


The Wizards Tournament

by purplepinatas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Background Relationships, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, POV Hermione Granger, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2018-12-27 10:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 84,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12078858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplepinatas/pseuds/purplepinatas
Summary: In a world where people are divided into districts based on blood status and Hogwarts is only for purebloods, an annual tournament is held to offer a chosen few a chance for a better life. Hermione Granger, a muggle-born from District 10, is forced to compete in the 84th Wizards Tournament. Here, Hermione struggles to remain her sense of self while also encountering a whole other side of herself. Among allies and enemies, Hermione meets Draco Malfoy, a pureblood with a knack for making her forget she's preparing for a fight to the death, but is Draco sincere in his advances? Or is he hiding a hidden agenda like so many others, including Hermione?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Alright this is my first multi-chapter fic, so thank you for giving it a chance. I've wanted to read a HP/THG crossover since I first read THG series, but could never find exactly what I was looking for, so I decided why not just write my own???? (Because writing is super hard, that's why). And after an eternity of writing, here it is!  
> I'm sure some of the characters are a bit OOC, but this is a drastic AU, so bear with me.

Part 1

Minerva McGonagall walked down the hallway with haste. She was not one to often run, but she wondered if this was a time to make an exception. She nodded to the statues of armor that lined the wall on either side. Knowing it was best not to assume the worst and panic, Minerva compelled herself to slow her feet. It just wasn't very often the Headmaster called for her at this time of night. In fact, Minerva couldn't think of a single time Dumbledore had needed to see her at half past 11. He must have a good reason, but that reason did not necessarily need to be an emergency. She reached the statue and spoke clearly, "Lemon drops." She had never understood her friend's love for muggle candy, even when he himself hadn't always been fond of muggles themselves.

As the statue moved to grant her entrance to the office, Minerva felt the panic begin to rise in her chest again. What if it was an emergency? The Headmaster wouldn't summon her just for a cup of tea. As soon as she arrived at the door, it opened suddenly and a frantic woman appeared. Minerva almost drew her wand, until she recognized the witch as Sybil Trewlaney, the woman applying for the divinations position.

"Oh Professor, I am so sorry. I was in such a hurry I almost ran right into you. The Headmaster has given me a job, can you believe it?" Before Minerva could respond, the spirited woman was hurrying down the steps, presumably to begin moving her belongings into the school. Minerva continued into the office, now even more curious as to what Dumbledore needed of her.

"Albus?" She questioned as she spotted the man staring into a stone basin. "What's this about? Surely you didn't ask for me this late just to inform me of a new coworker?"

The elderly wizard didn't speak at first, instead choosing to remain as though in a trance. Eventually he spoke, but it was quiet and her ears strained to hear him over the rain pattering against the window behind his desk.

"You know, Minerva, that I didn't always oppose our world, as I do now. There was a time, after what happened to-" his voice caught in his throat. After a moment, he continued louder, "I was proud of how we lived. I even advocated, cheered, when the Ministry announced the start of the Tournament. But as I grew older, matured, I realized the errors of our ways, the error of my ways."

"What's this about, Albus? What's happened?" Minerva was growing uneasy and frustrated at this vague conversation; she yearned to know what had caused his distraught state. At her tone, Albus looked up, but his eyes were slightly unfocused as though he was looking at something far away, not the woman in front of him.

"She's going to save us, Minerva. She's going to save us from them, from ourselves."

"Who is, Albus? Who's going to save us?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a stupid amount of time trying to decide how to go about the prologue. In the end I settled for this. I'm not too thrilled with it, but oh well.  
> Anyway, let me know what you think!!!!


	2. The Reaping

17 years later  
The clock on the wall read 4:17. The sun was barely beginning its ascent; light filtered through the window. Hermione Granger knew if she fell back asleep right now, she’d be able to sleep for at least two more hours; she also knew it was a lost cause. Getting a restful night’s sleep wasn’t an option, not today. 

Hermione climbed quietly out of bed and pulled on yesterday’s jeans. Pausing in front of the mirror, she attempted to smooth down her unruly hair before quickly giving up. Foolishly, she hoped her hair would be tolerable for once without the use of magic. She settled for just pulling it back in a hair tie instead. She smiled in the mirror and cringed at herself. Hermione knew there was no reason to be self-conscious of her teeth, for they had always been a bit bigger than she’d prefer. However, she secretly wished they’d miraculous shrink overnight, or that the rest of her body would grow into them. Hermione turned away from the mirror and continued through the house silently, grabbing an apple on her way out. 

Outside, the sun was slowly lighting the sky over District 10; it was quiet, the birds still sleeping. Hermione envied them as she headed towards the town square. Not surprisingly, she saw that she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. A few dozen people littered around the square, making small talk, trading necessities like food, clothes, and medicine, and doing anything but think of the day’s upcoming event. Hermione looked around at the familiar faces until she spotted the one she was looking for. As expected he was sitting on a bench alone-save for his feline companion-grumbling to himself. Hermione approached and stooped to pet his cat.

“What do you want Granger?” The elderly man huffed, obviously annoyed. Hermione rolled her eyes; they both knew he had been waiting for her. 

“I’m here to pet Mrs. Norris as I do every morning, Filch.” Despite the sick feeling in her stomach, she managed to keep a light and playful tone. She sat down next to him ignoring him as he grumbled under his breath about wanting a peaceful morning. “Tell me more Filch,” she asked, trying not to sound desperate, “I need it to get through today.”

“What do you want to hear about today?” he wasn’t surprised with her request, for she had no other reason to come see him. 

“Everything! The letter, the food, the train, the sorting hat, the ceiling, the-” she gasped and clutched his arm. “The library! I want to hear all about it.”

“I’ve told you all that before. Hearing about it isn’t going to change the fact that you’re a Muggle-born and weren’t allowed to go to Hogwarts.”

“I know that, but I want to know what it would’ve been like.” She glanced to the ground, embarrassed she sounded needy. 

“Alright fine,” he grumbled again, but this time just for show. He didn’t mind telling her, especially today. As a squib, Filch was incapable of doing magic, however he had been offered a job as caretaker at Hogwarts. It was not without its setbacks though. The students treated him awfully. “I’ll start with the library, since you seem to like that sort of thing. 

“The library is filled with books. And I mean filled. The shelves are as tall as the ceiling, which is pretty tall. And there’s more shelves than you can count. Well maybe you can count that high, but not some of the students, that’s for sure.”

“What kind of books do they have?” she asked eagerly. Her own selection was limited, only containing books the ministry deemed suitable for a muggle-born.

“Anything you can think of,” he answered simply. “There’s a book on everything, even on subjects that you children shouldn’t know anything about.”

“Those are in the restricted-section, right?” 

“I don’t know why I bother telling you things that you already know everything about.” Filched grumbled half annoyed, half amused. “Yes, the restricted section. You need to have a teacher’s permission to access a book in that part of the library.” 

They continued talking of books, and Hermione wished the world could be different. She knew she should be more grateful. When she was born, her parents were being worked to death in a factory in District 2 which was common for the muggles in pureblood districts. Then their daughter turned out to be a witch. The Grangers were relocated to District 10 with the other muggle-borns. While food and luxuries were nonexistent, there was a need for more diverse professions, and here they could pursue other careers. Hermione had survived 17 years of this life, which was more than what others could say. And, despite the ministries ruling that muggle-borns should learn only the minimalist magic, she had been taught more than she could ever admit. 

Before they knew it, the square had begun emptying. “It must be almost 7,” remarked Hermione. “The Aurors will be out soon.” Filch nodded and they both got up to leave. Nobody liked to be out when the Aurors were about, especially today. Even the smallest rule break would result in punishment from the enforcers sent by the ministry. Using magic, even to do one’s hair, was illegal today even for someone of age like Hermione. 

“Do you know why they choose this day to do the Reaping?” Filch broke her out of her thoughts with his questions. She turned to see him more angry than usual. “This is the day they send out the letters,” he explained. “After the Reaping, children will receive their acceptance letter and school supply list. So, while hundreds of purebloods are getting ready for a new year at school, some unlucky kids are preparing to participate in some tournament. And for what? Some honor?” 

Hermione looked around, hoping everyone was out of range. While it was unlikely somebody would report him, it could happen. To speak out against the ministry and the tournament was treason. At best, he would get lashings, but more likely Filch would lose his job as caretaker and be resigned to live in District 10 year-round. Or worse, be removed to District 11. Before Hermione could scold him for his carelessness, the caretaker picked up his cat and walked away. 

She understood his anger though and couldn’t blame him. While Filch could live at Hogwarts during the school year, he was forced to spend his summers here in District 10. Each year he had to watch the Reaping and witness two kids who never got the chance to learn magic the proper way be selected for the tournament. Then he spent the school year with ungrateful purebloods who were all but guaranteed to win if they were reaped. She knew how he felt, but she had never heard him speak so openly about it. Shaking off the shock he had left her with, Hermione returned home to prepare for the ceremony. 

When she entered the house, the interrogation began almost immediately. 

“Where were you?” her mother practically shrieked.

“I was with Filch mum, like I always am.” Hermione tried not to snap at her mother, but she couldn’t go through the Reaping day routine another year, even if it was for the last time. Each year, her mother imagined the worst, even before the Reaping began. 

“You can’t do that to us. Your father and I were worried sick.” Hermione looked to her dad who was sitting at the table reading the Daily Prophet. He made no implication that he had even heard her come in or his wife yelling. 

“I’m fine mum, I need to go get ready.” Hermione brushed past her mum and into her room. She just needed to get through the day, and then she and her mum could return to their easy relationship. 

Hanging in her closet was the nicest dress she owned. It had been her mother’s wedding dress, not the traditional type, but it had made do. Now it was reserved for Reaping Day. Hermione put on the dress and began to tackle the mess that was her hair. As she grew frustrated and almost gave up, she heard a knock in the door. Her mom peaked her head around the door, her eyes red from crying. 

“Can I be of assistance?”

“You can try, but nothing short of magic will help tame my hair.” Her mother entered the room and stood behind her. 

“We’ll see. You forget that you didn’t learn that spell until you were 15 and before then, I did your hair.” Equipped with a brush and some muggle hair products, Hermione’s mother managed to pull her hair back into a simple, but elegant, up do. “There, now everyone can see your beautiful face.” Hermione blushed and glanced away. 

“We should probably head down there.” Her mother nodded and embraced her. In her mother’s ear, she said quietly, “One more Reaping.” When she felt her eyes sting with tears, she pulled away.

Hermione walked with her parents back to the square. By that time, the Aurors were out and about, the usual few plus extras for the event. Usually, the Aurors couldn’t care less what they did in District 10, just as long as there wasn’t illegal magic going on. Today, the Aurors walked with their wands out, eager to catch anyone misbehaving. It wasn’t often they could just cast the killing curse without a trial. 

Nobody spoke to each other as they made their way to the check in line. Everyone was required to attend the event: muggles, squibs, wizards, and witches. Hermione bid one last farewell to her parents and then stood in the section for her age group. She looked around at the people beside her and knew they were all thinking the same thing. One last Reaping. By this day next year, all of them will be 18 and no longer eligible for the tournament. Hermione herself only had a couple more months. 

The courtyard was reserved for those who would be taking part in the Reaping. Surrounding the courtyard was everyone else, the audience. A stage was erected at the head of the courtyard. On it sat a line of chairs for the previous victors. In District 10, the chairs were empty, for there were no victors. Never had a muggle born won the tournament. 

Hermione stood uncomfortably amongst her classmates; she felt naked without her wand. It was tucked safely away in her side table drawer back home. The disallowance of magic on Reaping Day meant most everyone attended without their wands, so Hermione knew she wasn’t the only one feeling vulnerable. 

It was a controversial issue whether muggle-borns be allowed a wand at all. There were debates every few years, but it always ended the same. The ministry always decided the muggle-borns would be more beneficial to society-and to the entertainment of the tournament-if they were allowed wands and taught minimal magic. 

At nine o’ clock everyone was situated, and it began. 

The representative for the District, sent by the ministry to escort the tributes through what was to come, walked on stage. She was an older lady, very stern. Having never been a tribute or related to one, Hermione had not met the woman, but she had always felt sure she would like her. 

“Welcome all to the 84th annual Wizards Tournament. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, wizards and witches, muggles and squibs for being here.” Her tight smile as she said the standard introduction always left Hermione with the impression that she wanted to add ‘as though you had a choice’. 

“As you are all aware, I am Minerva McGonagall, and I will be selecting this year’s District 10 tributes.” Hermione recalled Filch saying McGonagall was a professor at Hogwarts, but that over the years, she had made it clear she didn’t fully support the ideology of blood purity. There were rumors of her being half-blood, but no one could prove it.

“Let us commence with the history and explanation of the Tournament.” McGonagall took a breath and began the dreaded speech with a sigh. “For over a millennium, Hogwarts has been a place for pureblood wizards. It was created when Muggles had grown jealous of our power and began to fear us. While some wizards felt the best choice was to simply go into hiding and ignore the muggles, in the end, it was decided the Muggles be shown their rightful place,” McGonagall gritted her teeth before adding, “at our feet.”

“For a while it was peaceful. Occasionally a group of muggles would try to disrupt the peace, but things were always righted.” She paused again to prepare for the next part.

“But even as there was peace, there were traitors among us. Over the years, witches and wizards dirtied their bloodlines by having relations with the inferior species. The result of this treason was half-bloods. These abominations,” she spat the word, “along with muggle-borns, impersonated wizards, claiming to be a part of our world, a world in which they have no right to be. 

“The ministry realized we needed order, so the UK was divided and the districts were established. Districts 1, 2, 3, and 4 are reserved exclusively for purebloods. These true wizards are allowed to attend Hogwarts and work in the Ministry. Those purebloods who have betrayed their race by fighting the ministry belong in districts 5 and 6. Half-bloods are sent to Districts 7, 8, and 9, and District 10 is reserved for muggle-borns. District 11 was later created for half-breeds, and other people who have no place in our society. Every year, a census is held to ensure everyone is in the correct District as well as rearranging muggles to where they are needed. 

“Once again, the muggles and the traitors took our sense of order and attempted to destroy it. Districts joined arms against the ministry and our Capitol, but unsurprisingly, they failed. Their worthless attempt at magic was nothing against the power of pureblood magic. Again, the ministry had to find order for our world. Therefore, a new system was established. 

“Each year, a tournament is held as a testimony of the Ministry’s mercy. Rather than eliminate the half-bloods and muggle-borns from our world, they are given a chance to prove their worth. One witch and one wizard between the ages 11 and 17 is chosen at random from each District to compete in the Tournament. Only one is the Victor, a victor who will live as a pureblood, regardless of blood status, having proved themselves worthy to the world.”

Hermione always wondered about that last part. ‘To the world’. As far as she knew, the rest of the world didn’t know or care what the United Kingdom was doing. People throughout Europe occasionally immigrated to their country and the ministry assigned them to the right District, now a part of their world. They probably hadn’t known what they were immigrating into though. 

“Now, shall we begin the Reaping?” McGonagall asked the rhetorical question, already approaching the stands that supported the two bowls, each holding the names of all eligible witches and wizards respectively. Hermione held her breath as the professor reached her name in one and selected a witch. Without looking at who it was, Hermione reached out and held the hand of the witch next to her. The hand squeezed back automatically. The only sound heard throughout the town was the rustling as McGonagall unfolded the paper. 

…

“Ginerva Weasley.”

Ron Weasley gaped in horror as he watched his younger sister approach the stage. Even with her shoulders squared and head held high, Ron knew Ginny was holding back tears. He also knew she wouldn’t dare cry in front of any of these people. Ron silently begged someone to volunteer in her place, but he knew it was useless. Volunteering wasn’t a common thing, not even in District 5, a district known for sticking up for the underdog. When Ginny made it to the stage, their district’s escort, Kinglsey, shook her hand solemnly. 

“Now for the wizard who will be joining her,” he reached into the bowl and selected a name. His face fell as he unfolded the paper, and Ron knew who it was before he read the name. Kingsley’s deep voice boomed across the crowd as he announced, “Ronald Weasely.”

The crowd erupted in gasps and whispers. Ron ignored the not-so hushed voices and stepped forward. As terrified as he was, all he could think about was his parents; they were about to lose two more of their children. What sort of sick twist of fate was this? Ron walked to the stage, shook his escort’s hand, and faced his sister. Although custom was to shake her hand also, he stepped forward and embraced her. Ginny hugged him back tightly before releasing, and together they turned and faced the crowd. 

…

McGonagall’s faced whitened as she pulled out the name and prepared to sentence yet another child to their death. She looked out to the audience, and in a clear voice read, “Hermione Granger.”

The hand Hermione held loosened automatically, and she heard the girl let out her breath in relief. Many parents, children, and witches relaxed. For many, the Reaping had spared them and their family another year, for some the rest of their life. Hermione on the other hand, still holding her breath, wanted to laugh. How foolish she had been to hope. She was two months away from being ineligible, but that didn’t matter today. Today she was a tribute. Two months from now, instead of being 18 and ineligible, she would be dead. 

“Miss Granger, can you make your way to the stage please?” Hermione finally release her breath, and witches around her parted to let her pass. Hands reached out consolingly; Hermione nodded appreciatively. She refused to break; she would be strong for her parents. She walked up on stage and shook hands with McGonagall who grasped her hand tightly, full of apology. She responded with a small smile trying to convey that it wasn’t her fault. 

“Now to pick the wizard who will be joining Miss Granger.” McGonagall walked over to the bowl for the wizards, pulled out a name, and read, “John Smith.”

It took Hermione a moment to place the name. When he walked on stage, Hermione recognized him as a boy who was a few years younger than she was. They had probably never spoken. Now, the Tournament forced them to be allies or enemies. Either way, both would be dead in just a few short weeks. They shook hands as instructed then turned to face the crowd. 

…

Harry Potter stood on stage looking out at the people of District 8. Many of them were sobbing, though only a few were doing that out of grief. One of them was Lavender Brown who stood next to him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, so instead he scanned the crowd for his mother. He spotted her off to the side, weeping silently. Harry wished his father could be there to comfort. Instead, like Harry now, James Potter had been reaped when he was 16. However, James had the advantage as a pureblood and Hogwarts student. Consequently, he won. Now a mentor for District 8, James was currently seated behind Harry with the other Victors. 

Their escort led Harry and Lavender off the stage and into the building reserved for town meetings and Tournament business. Each were led to their own room where they would be allowed a chance to say their goodbyes to their families. 

Harry sat on the couch patiently waiting for his parents; his father had left him to get his mother. He could still hear Lavender’s sobs from the next room. A few moments later, his parents entered the room and rushed to embrace him. 

“Oh Harry, it’s going to be ok,” his mother assured him, gripping his shoulders. “Your father is a great mentor and has helped more than a few tributes become victors.” Harry was going to inform his mother that that had been when he was the mentor for District 2, when his tributes were purebloods, but a knowing look form his father silenced him. Instead he just nodded. 

“I’ll miss you mum,” Harry said quietly, hugging her tightly. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will Harry, I’m not worried at all.” Lily looked to her husband over their son’s head, and he gave her a reassuring look. She pulled back and looked at their son. “You do your best in their Harry and listen to your father; he knows what he’s doing.”

“I will mum. I promise.” They sat together for a short time longer until an Auror came to announce it was time to leave. Harry hugged his mother one last time then left the room. He gave his parents their privacy as he knew it would be a much more emotional goodbye than usual. This time, if his father returned without a victor, it would also be without a son. 

…

Because Ron and Ginny were siblings, they said their goodbyes in the same room. It only took a moment for their parents and older brothers to burst through the door. 

“Hey mum,” Ron choked out as his mother threw her arms around him and his sister. She didn’t even say anything, just sobbed. Their father took it upon himself to say what needed to be said. 

“Now listen you two, no matter what happens, we love you both, and we want you to try. You two have two of the best mentors there is and even though only one…” he stopped and took a breath. “Just promise me you’ll take care of each other alright?” Ron and Ginny both nodded. Their mother was still crying so they turned to their brothers. 

The oldest, Bill, had been reaped when he was fourteen years old and had been one of the youngest victors ever. When a few years later their brother Charlie was reaped, Bill was his mentor and helped him survive the Tournament. Between the two of them, they had brought home two other victors. Ron knew they were Ginny’s best chance for surviving. 

They had had twin brothers, Fred and George. However, when they were 16, they disappeared. Nobody had seen them in 3 years, and they were declared dead. The idea that they could enter other districts or escape the country without being killed was unheard of. The consequence of their law breaking was the Weasleys were classified as Blood Traitors and relocated to District 5. Ron and Ginny were pulled out of Hogwarts and were now homeschooled by their mother. 

The third oldest boy, Percy, had managed to become of age without getting reaped and was offered a position at the ministry. He had accepted, hoping to put his family in better standing with the Ministry. Clearly, it hadn’t worked. Instead, Percy had not been allowed to see or even write to his family since accepting the job.

About to lose two children after essentially having lost three already, Molly was still crying and showing no signs of letting up. Before she had stopped, the Aurors returned to escort them away. Last embraces were held and last goodbyes said.

…

Hermione and John didn’t speak as they were led to their rooms. Once alone, Hermione had to fight back tears that were threatening to spill. She couldn’t do that now, not in front of her parents. After a few minutes, there was a soft knock on the door. Hermione turned to see her parents enter the room. Her mother, for once, looked strong and put together. Her father on the other hand was a mess.

Through broken sobs, he choked out, “You know I always try to distance myself on this day, so I can be strong for you if the time came. But I never thought-”

“I know dad, me too.” Hermione had to fight even harder to hold the tears at bay. 

“For a moment there, I let myself be hopeful,” her mum admitted. “This was your last reaping.”  
Hermione nodded, unable to admit out loud that she did the same. “Promise me, you’ll do your best.”

“I swear.” 

“Good, your best is so much better than any purebloods, and we all know it.” Hermione laughed at her mom’s exaggeration, but she felt comforted by her faith. They all hugged for a few minutes, her father still crying quietly. “The Aurors should be back soon,” her mother said after a while, “we should leave. They’ll need us to get your wand from the house for your escort before you leave.” Hermione nodded and hugged each of them again. 

After they left, Hermione sat down once again and waited for the Aurors to escort her out. She was surprised when the next knock revealed, not an escort, but Filch.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think Granger? I’m here to say goodbye. You’re the only person in this District that isn’t too afraid of me to pet Mrs. Norris. Also, you follow all the rules, so I know I wouldn’t hate you as much as the rest of the students.” It was the nicest thing Filch had ever said to her, or anyone. Before she could start crying, he continued. “I’m not just here to inflate your ego; I’m here to help you.” Hermione was sure her face conveyed as much confusion as she felt. How could he help her?

“Don’t doubt me, just because I can’t do magic like all of you.” He said defensively. “I have information that could save your life. Now, since District 10 has never had a victor, they assign someone random to be your mentor. If you’re lucky, it’ll be either Potter, Lupin, or Black.” 

“Why one of them? Have they mentored the most victors?”

“Not as far as I know,” Filch answered honestly. “They’re good mentors for sure, but I knew them when they were students. Real troublemakers they were. But, somehow, they know the arena more than anyone does. If you’re assigned one of them, make sure they tell you everything they know. If not, then form an alliance with their tributes.” He stared at Hermione a moment, and his gruff voice softened a bit as he said, “I believe in you Granger. If anyone from this district can win, it’s you.”

“Thank you Filch, for everything-the advice, the stories-I owe you immensely.”

“Yeah well, win the Tournament and share some of your eternal glory with me,” Filch grumbled, his walls going up again. Hermione smiled and stooped to pet Mrs. Norris one last time before she and the caretaker left.


	3. The Capitol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione arrives in the Capitol and is introduced to a few of the other tributes. She discovers surviving the tournament is more than knowing magic and wonders if she has what it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly surprised that there's already hits on this and I'm so grateful so many of you are giving this a chance. I already have most of Part 1 written, I just need to touch up a few spots, so it should take long to get more of it posted.

After Filch and Mrs. Norris left, an Auror came to collect Hermione and John. They were escorted by McGonagall to the fireplace where they would travel to the Capitol. The Floo Network took them to a sort of warehouse where dozens of people bustled about.

They were ushered to a room labeled ‘10’. Inside were some chairs, a counter off to the side with various snack foods and beverages, and on the far wall were two doors. These were labeled ‘boy’ and ‘girl’. Something told Hermione that there weren’t restrooms. McGonagall urged the tributes to take a seat. Once seated, she began.

“Your schedule for the next few weeks is as follows. Tonight, you will be introduced to the Capitol and meet your mentor. There will be a sort of party for you to mingle with the other Tributes and meet potential sponsors. Tomorrow, your training begins. You will have a week and a half to learn basic spells, dueling, and anything else that will be useful in the arena. It is also during this time that you will want to establish alliances and assess the other tributes. 

“At the end of your training, there will be an exam of sorts through which you will be rated on how likely you are to win the Tournament. The higher the rating, the more sponsors-and enemies-you’ll have. Then there will be the interviews, followed by a Feast. The next day, the Tournament begins. Any questions?”

Even if Filch hadn’t told Hermione of her escort’s profession, it wouldn’t have been hard to guess. McGonagall ran through their schedule as though reading a syllabus, and Hermione felt the urge to raise her hand before asking a question. “You said we’ll be leaning basic spells and dueling, why is that?” 

“We want to ensure that everyone going into the arena is capable of at least the basics. It’s no fun for the Ministry,” she practically spat the word, “if there’s three wizards casting spells left and right, and everyone else is cowering in fear.” Hermione nodded in understanding. “Let me make something clear,” McGonagall continued. “The magic covered during training is taught to the purebloods before they are fourth years. This week of training will by no means even the playing field; you are and will continue to be at a disadvantage.” McGonagall said this simply but with remorse. Hermione understood perfectly. There was a good reason District 10 had never had a victor. 

“Now as for your introduction to the Capitol tonight. It isn’t a big deal, no parade or anything, just a walk across a stage, you stop for pictures, and are introduced. It’s a first impression for your potential sponsors. However, the Ministry would appreciate if the Tributes presented themselves as though they just entered a beauty pageant rather than were sentenced to death.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and Hermione caught herself chuckling. She mentally scolded herself for taking light of the situation. “Therefore, there is a stylist for each of you to give you a sort of makeover or something.” She waved her hand in the general direction of the not-restroom doors. 

As her and John got up to face whoever and whatever awaited them beyond the doors, Hermione stopped and turned towards their escort. 

“You mentioned meeting our mentor.” McGonagall nodded and she continued. “Do you know who it is this year?”

“I believe that whoever volunteered changed their mind last-minute, so they are still trying to find somebody else. We should know in a few hours.” She assured her. Hermione wasn’t too surprised. It figured nobody would want to mentor a couple of Muggle-borns guaranteed to be dead within the first day. 

Through the door, Hermione found a much larger room. Along one wall was a line of clothes, mostly dresses, ranging in color, size, and style. In one corner was a large tub, with a counter covered in various beauty products. The opposite corner had a vanity, also covered in products. She found a chair to sit in and wait, but the moment she sat down, a loud crack made her jump out of the chair. Hermione realized a second later that the sound was someone apparating into the room. 

“Bonjour, you must be zee tribute for District 10, non?” Hermione turned to see a beautiful witch standing behind her. She was tall, thin, and blonde. Everything Hermione wasn’t.

“Hermione Granger,” she reached out her hand, and the witch took it in both of hers.

“Fleur Delacour, it’s an ’onor to meet you. I am going to make you très belle for zee Capitol! Now, take of your clothes.” Hermione hesitantly took off her clothes, face beet red the entire time. Fleur gave her no privacy, instead she circled around her making quiet comments in French as she went. Finally, appearing satisfied with her assessment, Fleur ushered her towards the bath.

Over the next hour, Hermione was bathed, waxed, and polished. Fleur eventually granted her a robe, and although it was shorter than she’d prefer, Hermione decided it was better than nothing. She now sat on the chair at the vanity, and Fleur was tending to her eyebrows. Throughout the whole process, Fleur had talked of herself, where she grew up, her family’s move to England, and living in the Capitol. 

“I became a stylist for zee Tournament a few years ago. I ’ave loved it ever since. Usually I style zee tributes of District 5, but this year zee mentors and I decided to try something new.” She didn’t sound upset about it, but she yanked the tweezers a little harder as she said that, and Hermione suspected there was more to the story. “I am grateful to be given you to work with. You are already so beautiful; it makes my job much easier.” Hermione blushed again and wondered if her face would ever return to its normal shade after this experience. 

“There,” Fleur stepped back admiring her work, “much better. Now, time for clothes. What do you usually wear to social events.” Hermione merely shook her head, confused at the question.

“What do you mean ‘social events’?”

“Parties? Fancy dinners? School dances?” 

“We don’t have those in District 10.” 

“Well no wonder zee tributes from 10 always look so uncomfortable at zee events.” 

“Not because they’re surrounded by people eager to kill them or watch them die?” Hermione couldn’t stop the harsh question. She had liked her stylist so far; she was so social and bubbly, and it was understandable for most Capitol citizens to be so daft about the Tournament. But Fleur came from France, a country that didn’t have death tournaments every year; she should be against the Capitol and their treatment of Districts. 

Fleur’s face didn’t change as she processed the question. Finally, she said, “That doesn’t stop zee other tributes from ’aving a good time. Those tributes smile and talk to people. They make friends, and when the tournament starts, they have sponsors to ’elp them. Those tributes win.” She said this so simply; Hermione realized she didn’t have an argument. 

She knew she could point out that sponsors could only do so much, that not knowing magic automatically gets you killed, but she also knew that wasn’t a valid argument. Magic was taught in District 10. All the tributes knew at least some magic, and they had just as much chance as the half-bloods who also couldn’t attend Hogwarts. 

She looked meekly at her stylist who was gracious enough not to say anything further on the matter. They returned to the subject of clothes and together found something nice for her to wear. Back at the vanity, Fleur began her makeup. It took pleas and insistence on Hermione’s part to get Fleur to agree to a simple face. 

“You ’ave so much potential ’ermione. Imagine what some blush and eyeliner could do!”

“Maybe for the Feast,” Hermione suggested, hoping that would appease her stylist. Fleur grumbled under her breath but conceded. 20 minutes later, Fleur stepped back and smiled. 

“Finished!” she turned Hermione’s chair and allowed her to look in the mirror. Hermione thought back to when she looked in the mirror that morning. Then, she had bags under her eyes from sleep deprivation, her face was blotchy, and her hair stuck out in odd places. Now however, her hair was pulled back in elegant twists. Her face had concealer that gave her an even skin tone. Her brows were still full but now held a defined arch. She looked older, more mature somehow, more confident. 

Fleur clapped her hands together and let out a squeal. “I did good, non?” 

“You did amazing, Fleur,” Hermione admitted. She smiled at herself in the mirror and immediately felt herself revert to her normal self. Her smile faded as she realized that even here she would be the annoying girl that knows too much and has too big teeth. 

“’Ermione? What is wrong? Do you not like it?”

“It’s not that Fleur, it’s nothing you can do.”

“Don’t underestimate magic ‘ermione. Tell me what it is and I’ll fix it.” She said it so surely that Hermione couldn’t help but trust her stylist. 

“Is there any way you could make my teeth smaller? Just the front two. I’ve always hated how big they are.”

“But they are a part of you!” Fleur protested. 

“But I don’t want them to be. I’m tired of being the girl with buck teeth,” she pleaded.

Fleur thought for a minute. “Very well,” she conceded. “But not too small.”

“Thank you, Fleur,” Hermione said sincerely. A few minutes later, Hermione was looking in the mirror again, this time smiling widely. She ran her tongue over her teeth and admired her stylist work. They were still bigger than her other teeth, but proportionately so. 

Fleur chuckled as she watched her tribute. “I am glad you love it. Now, let us go see how everyone else likes you.” 

…

Ron and Ginny sat in a small room their brothers had taken them to inside the warehouse. Bill and Charlie were talking them through what was to come, but neither were paying attention. Ron was impatient to begin talking about strategy. What was the best way to keep Ginny safe? He knew his brothers would do whatever it took to protect their sister. 

Ginny on the other hand was trying to decide how to prevent Ron from sacrificing himself for her. She knew that would be his plan. All her brothers would focus on keeping her safe, and in the end, Ron would go as far as outright killing himself if it meant her survival. 

“And then the morning after the feast, the Tournament begins,” Charlie concluded dramatically. He looked between Ron and Ginny and then at Bill. They both knew what their youngest siblings were thinking. 

“Hey guys, listen up,” Bill said, and Ron and Ginny looked up. “I know this is difficult, and there’s no way both of you are going to survive. That’s the truth of it. But, what matters is that you both go in there determined to survive. We’ll be there for mom when the time come. Until then, you fight for each other and for yourselves.” Ron and Ginny looked at their eldest brother then at each other. Out loud they agreed with him, but internally, they disagreed.

…

“Miss Granger, you look lovely.” 

“Thank you, McGonagall. Fleur is wonderful at her job.”

“And John, you look very handsome. John?” Hermione coughed to cover her laugh. Ever since she and Fleur had returned to the waiting area, John had been bewitched by her stylist. Hermione was sure his eyes would dry out from staring so long. Fleur seemed oblivious to his attention, probably used to it, and, apparently, it had escaped McGonagall’s notice as well. Before McGonagall managed to revive him, a young man poked his head in the door. 

“They’re ready for you.” McGonagall stood and ushered the tributes to their feet. Fleur and John’s stylists wished them good luck before apparating away. John and Hermione followed their escort back through where they came, across the warehouse, and outside. 

…

Harry looked around in wonder. They stood on steps that lead down to a courtyard. A very large courtyard. At least one hundred people occupied it, but it wasn’t crowded. Tables clustered together on one side while the other was more open. The far side held a stage, presumably for their introductions. A live orchestra was playing on a larger platform in the corner. As amazing as it was, Harry was mostly interested in meeting people, specifically his father’s friends, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. He had grown up hearing stories of them and their adventures at Hogwarts, but he had yet to meet them. 

“Do you think they’re already here?” he asked his father eagerly. 

“I’m sure they are,” he answered. “Remus is always a stickler for showing up on time, if not early, and Sirius will be most eager to meet his godson.” Harry beamed at the reminder. For longer than he could remember, he had wanted to meet his godfather. Even considering the circumstances, he was excited. Harry followed his father through the crowd. All around him, people were talking, eating food, and some were even dancing. He recognized some as previous victors and a few Capitol celebrities. 

Harry and James made their way through the crowds, politely excusing themselves from conversation, until eventually they reached a semi-clearing with a small group of people. Harry guessed a couple of them to be tributes. The boy was slightly taller than he was and had a sort of awkward air about him. The girl was short and willowy with blond hair. She had a dazed look in her eyes, and Harry noted she wore radish earring. Before he could truly focus on that though, he attention was caught by the two men standing behind them. 

Instantly, he recognized them from his father’s photo albums. Sirius had lost his boyish features but managed to retain the devil-may-care look about him. Remus appeared more haggard, more aged, but considering his condition, Harry was not surprised. Both of their faces lit up when they spotted him.

“Harry!” Sirius exclaimed as he stepped forward and embraced him. Harry worried for a moment that it would be a bit awkward, being hugged by someone you’ve never actually met, but after a moment, he realized they were far from strangers. 

Once Sirius released him, Remus stepped forward, and Harry hugged him. It didn’t last as long as it had with Sirius but was just as enriching. The two tributes, realizing this was an intimate moment, quietly excused themselves and wandered away. 

“My god James, he looks just like you,” Sirius astonished. 

“But with Lily’s eyes,” Remus added. Sirius nodded in agreement, and Harry burned under their scrutiny. James chuckled and drew their attention away from his son.

“Don’t act like you two haven’t seen pictures. You’ve known how he looks every year since he was born.”

“I know, but still,” Sirius argued, “It’s like we have two of you.”

“Merlin, I hope not,” Remus cringed. They all laughed, and James felt his heart swell. Despite being Victors and later mentors, the three of them were still restricted and unable to visit other districts. He had yearned for a time when his childhood friends and family could meet, but he had never wanted it to be like this. 

Harry rejoiced at meeting his father’s friends: it was just like he had hoped it would be. While they talked, an elderly woman approached them. His father introduced her as Professor McGonagall, escort for district 10. She smiled at Harry, and he noticed her glance between him and his father.

“You’re not a troublemaker like your father was?” she asked with a smile before turning to his father and speaking quietly. Figuring it was just Tournament business, Harry stepped to the side and give them their privacy. 

Harry watched as a young woman, about his age, stepped through the crowd towards them. She was wearing a red dress that reached just above her knees. The top showed a modest amount of skin, and Harry suspected she didn’t usually wear such clothes as she was constantly smoothing down the front as she walked. He guessed she must have been one of McGonagall’s tributes. Sure, enough, she walked over to them, and McGonagall ceased her conversation with James to introduce her. 

“I’d like to present one of the district 10 tributes, Hermione Granger.” The young woman smiled politely to each of them. “Hermione, these are James and Harry Potter from district 8, Sirius Black from District 6, and Remus Lupin from District 11.” Hermione smiled and greeted each of them. Her eyes held a hint of sympathy when she looked at Harry and his father, and Harry suspected he’d see that look a lot. 

…

Hermione couldn’t believe it: right in front of her stood the three mentors Filch had deemed capable of saving her. She made a mental note of which Districts they represented and focused on who their tributes were. However, before she could strike up conversation with the tributes, McGonagall urged her away. The smell of food wafted towards her, and Hermione regretted not snacking earlier. Who knew how long it would be until she would be able to eat. 

She let McGonagall lead her through the crowd. Most people ignored her, but a few took a second glance as she passed. She began to grow aware of how short her dress was, and she cursed Fleur for talking her into it. Eventually, they made it through and to the stage. About a dozen other people stood there already, and Hermione realized she was seeing the majority of her competition for the first time. 

Almost immediately, she could sort through the purebloods from the non. The former was clustered together and stood tall. They looked down at the others and almost appeared bored. The latter spaced themselves from each other. Most looked at the ground or peaked around from the corner of their eyes. A couple looked scared, and one girl was even crying. 

“So, here’s what happens,” McGonagall said, “When they announce the District before you, you walk onto the stage. Then, they’ll announce your district, and you’ll cross the stage. When they say your name, you’ll step forwards, shake their hands, and smile. The smile is important; it shows the sponsors that you are excited, that you aren’t afraid. The brave ones get the sponsors,” she said sternly, and Hermione thought back to what Fleur said about getting the sponsors to like you. “It looks like it’s about to start.”

Hermione turned and watched two men walk across the stage. One was older and appeared very serious, the other was a younger man and was smiling. The younger man stepped forward, raised his wand to his throat and murmured a spell. Suddenly he began speaking, and his voice shot across the courtyard. 

“Welcome everyone to the 84th Wizards Tournament!” The audience clapped and cheered. “I am Ludo Bagman, and it is an honor to host this year.” A young woman quietly walked through the group of Tributes ushering them into a pseudo line near the stage. Hermione silently protested as her spot in line prevented her from seeing the stage. “I’ve got Barty Crouch with me as Head of the Tournament. As you all know, the next few weeks is the most exciting part of the year, and I am eager to share that with you,” Ludo continued. “Tonight, we will officially meet the tributes, and over the next week we’ll keep you updated on their progress through training. The tributes will get their interview on the Sunday after next, after which will be the Final Feast. Now, let’s meet this year’s tributes!” Again, the audience cheered. The line moved forwards implying the first District had stepped on stage. Hermione stood on her tip toes, trying to see, but it was futile. 

“District 1” Ludo announced. “Draco Malfoy,” a pause while the audience clapped and pictures were taken, “and Astoria Greengrass!” More clapping, and even a few cheers were heard. The line moved forward again, and District 2 tributes were introduced. Each tribute was received differently by the crowd. For most of the purebloods, there were cheers. The children of blood traitors from 5 and 6 were met with some boos. Hermione refused to accept the only reasonable probability as to why the tributes from 5 had the same last name.

Eventually, Hermione and John reached the stage. District 9 was walking across the stage, and they boarded the steps. After what felt like an hour, though it couldn’t have been more than five minutes since Ludo had started his speech, Hermione heard John’s name called. He stepped forward, stumbled over his foot and barely caught himself. The crowd laughed, and Hermione was sure his pictures would show him grimacing, if not downright blushing. 

She watched him step off to the side, and her name was called, “Hermione Granger.” She stepped forward, and focusing on both her escort and stylist’s words, she smiled. She took Ludo’s hand eagerly, smiling as though she was in a beauty pageant. She faced the cameras and smiled some more. Hermione smiled like she volunteered for the Tournament, smiled like she had begged for years to be a part of this and was finally accepted. And the crowd applauded louder, some even cheered. Photographers continued to take pictures as she walked off the stage. 

McGonagall waited for her off to the side with a younger woman that seemed vaguely familiar. They both beamed at her. 

“That was perfect Miss Granger,” her escort congratulated her. 

“Good idea, listening to your escort; not everyone does,” the woman said. Hermione looked at her again, and this time could recognize her. 

“You’re Nymphadora Black, aren’t you?”

“Please, call me Tonks, everyone does.” She reached out her hand and Hermione shook it. “I’ll be your mentor.”

“Oh, how’d you get suckered into that?” 

“Not suckered, I volunteered.”

“Really?” Hermione was surprised. “I was under the impression that nobody wanted to mentor the muggle-borns. 

“I like a good challenge.”

“I’m sure you do.” Hermione liked how easy it was to talk to her mentor. Tonks, as she liked to be called, was a pureblood from District 1 who won the Tournament when she was 15, the youngest female to ever win. In her case, being a pureblood hadn’t been her only advantage. Tonks was also a metamorphagus, meaning she could alter her appearance at will. “I don’t mean to be rude, but usually when I see you in pictures, your hair is pink, bright bubblegum pink.” Tonks nodded.

“Yes, it’s my favorite color, I usually keep it that most of the time.”

“Why not now?” Currently it was a natural looking brown, probably why Hermione didn’t recognize her at first. 

“I try not to detract attention away from the tributes on this day. It’s important for the sponsors to notice you. Speaking of which, you are doing a marvelous job of that.” Hermione thanked her. “Now, it’s time to meet people.” She grabbed Hermione’s hand leaving John with McGonagall. “There’s so many potential sponsors here; you have to meet as many as possible while also leaving a lasting impression with each of them,” Tonks explained. 

Hermione looked at the people around her. Many she had never seen before, but a few she recognized. District 10 didn’t have accesses to many luxuries, but one thing they did enjoy was the occasional film that would play in the town square. From those, she could place a few faces. Others she knew because they were considered royalty, those who could trace their bloodlines as far back as the founders of Hogwarts. 

These people lived in the Capitol year-round. Ministry employees, celebrities, pureblood royalty, and most Hogwarts professors could spend their daily lives in luxury, while everyone else grew up in fear of the Tournament. Even the purebloods in Districts 1 through 4 had to endure the Tournament, merely because their family wasn’t in with the Ministry. And Hermione was just expected to suck up to these people in hopes they’ll choose her, a muggle-born, over others? Surely, Tonks knew what she was asking of her.

After almost an hour of being dragged around, quite literally, and introduced to dozens of people, Hermione was ready to go to bed. She was charming and polite despite wanting nothing more than to curse them all for their barbaric nature and love for the Tournament. 

As they met potential sponsors, Hermione was also introduced to the other tributes. As expected, she was not interested in an alliance with the few purebloods she met; they hardly even looked at her, and when they did speak to her, it was about her impending death. 

She met Sirius’s tributes and was willing to consider them as allies. Neville was kind, if a bit shy and awkward, and Luna was, well, strange. When Luna questioned Hermione’s knowledge of nargles, Hermione worried there were creatures not listed in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, until deeper conversation threw Luna’s credibility out the window. 

After Tonks introduced them to almost every tribute and as many Capitol people she could find, Hermione was free to eat. She had been eyeing the buffet table all afternoon and was more than eager to begin trying everything. She started on one end and grabbed bite sized portions of everything. A fourth of the way down the first table, she ran out of room on her plate. 

Hermione took her plate and found a mostly empty table near the food and settled into her seat. She people watched as she ate her food, making a point to savor each bite and make note of which items she would want more. A couple middle aged witches sat on the other side of the table and were speaking in hushed tones. Hermione let her curiosity get the better of her.

“Nobody has seen him since his introductions,” one said to the other.

“Well can you blame him?” Retorted the other. “He’s the laughing stock of the year, and his father isn’t even here.”

“It’s not like he’s required to. I wouldn’t if my son had done that to me.”

“No, but wouldn’t you think he’d at least be his mentor? You wouldn’t trust someone else with your child’s life?” 

As Hermione finished her first plate, she decided she was more interested in food than the women’s conversation. She got up to grab more food and idly wondered who they had been speaking about. Obviously, a tribute, someone who wasn’t being mentored by their father, a previous victor. She ran through the names she could remember of the tributes, trying to decide if any sounded familiar. Most of the purebloods came from big families that had a tradition of volunteering, so it would most likely be one of them. She settled for just asking Tonks about it later. 

As she was balancing a third type of bread on top of her second, a voice behind her chastised, “If you eat all that bread you won’t make it past your second plate, not to mention you’re only halfway down the first table.” Hermione jumped slightly and barely caught the bread. She turned to see who was laughing quietly at her. He appeared to be her age, but much taller. He had pale blond hair, slightly pointed feature, but was certainly attracted. She definitely hadn’t seen him during the introductions, but then again, she hadn’t hardly seen anyone from where she stood. 

“I wasn’t going to eat the whole piece, just a bite of each,” she clarified, a little offended. 

“Oh, I see, well then you might have room for a third plate then.” He was smirking, and it made Hermione’s stomach flutter.

“Have you been watching me?” She had caught his reference to her next plate being her third. Hermione had wanted to enjoy the light banter, but she grew alarmed at the thought of being the object of someone’s notice.

“You caught my eye, yes. Be sure to give my compliments to your stylist.” He was still smirking and it only made Hermione blush deeper. Even through her concealer, she was sure he could notice how red he was making her. 

“I shall,” she said politely, her walls slowly going up. “I should go find my escort.” She turned away, and he gently caught her elbow.

“Wait,” she turned back to him and he smiled, “Can I at least learn your name first?” she looked at him confused. “I was distracted during the introductions, and must have missed yours,” he explained. 

It made perfect sense to Hermione. The way this guy held himself screamed pureblood, and he had no idea she was a muggle-born. How would she tell him? How would he take it? He’d probably laugh at her, ridicule her for thinking she was worthy of his time. Maybe he’d even be angry, accuse her of tricking him. 

He seemed to notice her hesitation. “Here, I’ll go first.” He reached out and took her hand. “Draco Malfoy, District 1.” He bowed and gently brushed his lips across her knuckles, eyes never leaving hers. Hermione gasped slightly and felt herself grow red, but she couldn’t break the eye contact or withdraw her hand. As though in a trance, she introduced herself. 

“Hermione Granger, District-” Suddenly, someone approached, and Hermione practically yanked her hand away. She turned to see that her savior was Tonks who surprised her by stepping forward and hugging Draco. 

“Oh Draco, it’s so good to see you.”

“Always a pleasure Dora,” Draco responded, and Hermione wondered at the nickname. Her mentor had made it clear she only responded to Tonks, so the name implied a level of intimacy between the two. 

“Hermione, I see you’ve met my cousin.”

“Cousin?” 

“One of them at least,” Draco said. “There’s more than a few overlaps between pureblood families,” he explained. Hermione understood exactly what he was talking about. It was a common topic they discussed in school: when would all the purebloods become one inbred family and die out? “I was just about to explain to Hermione that she saved my life.” He told Tonks.

“I did?” Hermione asked.

“Oh yes, definitely,” he sounded almost genuine. “I was on the brink of death when I spotted you.”

“The brink huh? What was the cause?”

“Boredom.” He answered simply. Hermione couldn’t fight a smile, and Draco smiled back in response. 

Tonks cleared her throat, and Hermione blushed-again-and looked away from the District 1 tribute. “Hermione, McGonagall is looking for you. I think she wants to take you and John ‘home’ for the evening.” She turned to Draco, “Try to stay out of trouble.”

“Not to worry,” he assured her. “Since you are removing Hermione, I’ll be forced to go back to awaiting the sweet release of death to save me from the ennui of Capitol people.” Tonks rolled her eyes and walked away, leaving the two alone. 

“It was nice to meet you Draco,” Hermione said politely, fighting the butterflies in her stomach at saying his name.

“It truly was a pleasure Hermione; I look forward to seeing you tomorrow in training.” Then he clasped her hand and, once again, kissed it before turning and disappearing into the crowd. Hermione stood there in a daze, confused about the day’s events. Just 12 hours ago, she had woken up in her bed in District 10. Since then, she’d been sentenced to death, taken to the Capitol, met too many people, and attracted the attention of a charming pureblood? She shook her head and when in search of her escort.


	4. The Tributes

Draco pushed his way through the crowd, subtly adjusting his pants as he went. Hermione Granger. He liked how her name sounded, almost as much as he liked hearing her say his. He couldn’t deny his attraction to her, there was semi-solid proof of it in his trousers. He thought back to when he first saw her descend the steps into the courtyard.

Her basic red dress showed just enough of her legs and hugged her curves flawlessly. Even with her hair pulled back, the strands falling loose told him how wild it wanted to be. She was even more beautiful up close. He wished he had stuck around after his introduction to watch her walk across stage, but his aunt/mentor was getting on his nerves, and he needed space. When he gained enough patience to return to the stage, the introductions had finished and he lost her in the crowd. Eventually, he found her by the food. He had meant to approach her immediately, but he couldn’t help watching her eat. Every few bites, she’d taste something she liked. Her eyes would close in pleasure, and Draco had to restrain himself from laying her on the table and snogging her senseless. Finally, he gained enough composure to talk to her. Images of her flushed face, lips parted in shock, would stick with him tonight, he was sure. 

At first, he hadn’t considered her blood status; goddesses such as herself had to be pureblood. But when he realized her reluctance to share what district she was from, he began to worry she was a blood traitor from 5 or 6, or even worse, a half-blood. She’d almost told him when his cousin came over. Their acquaintance had initially reassured him of her being a pureblood, but he couldn’t deny it now. Her escort is Professor McGonagall, meaning she was from District 10. He had heard Dora clearly.

He was disgusted with himself. Lusting after a mudblood like a common blood traitor. What was he? A Potter? His father would disown him. Well, he would if he hadn’t already. The worst part was that he continued to flirt with her even after he realized what she was. He had even kissed her hand again. 

Mudbloods weren’t supposed to be attractive. They were basically muggles, and muggles were not objects of his fantasies. He wondered if maybe she was a second or third generation muggle-born. If both her parents were children of muggle-borns, then he could argue she’s basically a half-blood. He sought out his cousin, eager to question what she knew of Hermione’s lineage. 

He found her talking to a young man with red hair. Draco recognized him as one of the Weasleys that had won a few years back. They were standing on the edge of the courtyard, along the hedges, almost out of view. Had Draco not been looking closely; he wouldn’t have spotted them. His cousin leaned in close to the Weasley, too close for just acquaintances to stand. It didn’t take a genius to guess they were whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. 

Draco was more than surprised. His maternal grandparents would never stand for children or grandchildren to have relations with anyone they didn’t hand pick for them. Before he could berate her though, he remembered why he had gone looking for her. He cleared his throat and they hastily pulled apart. 

“Draco! What are you doing?” Tonks hadn’t bothered to deny what they were doing, and Draco was grateful she didn’t challenge his intelligence. 

“Can I talk to you?” His tone implied the need for privacy, and Weasley excused himself. 

“I’m assuming this is about Hermione?” Tonks chuckled as he flushed. “Honestly Draco, I’m surprised at you. First time meeting a muggle-born and you flirt with her! You must want Lucius to hate you.”

“I didn’t know what she was,” he argued feebly. 

“Did you miss her introduction?” Tonks asked confused.

“Bella was getting on my nerves,” he said simply. His cousin nodded understandingly; their aunt was a character that took a lot of patience. Anyone who didn’t share her enthusiasm was belittled, and she took what happened between Draco and his father very seriously. 

“So, what are you going to do? Just pretend like you’re not totally into her, or ignore her blood?”

“You say that like either are easy.” He grumbled. “What do you know about her?”

“Well not much yet, but I am her mentor, so soon I’ll know a lot.”

“How’d you get stuck mentoring for 10?” 

“I like a challenge,” she said simply, automatically, and Draco dropped it. 

“Can you at least tell me she’s a third-generation muggle-born? I’ll even take a second-generation,” he practically pleaded which drew a laugh from his cousin.

“Sorry Draco, but I’m almost positive her parents are muggles. Not squibs, not muggle-borns, no magical blood,” she stressed. 

“So, what do I do?” 

“Either you figure out how to rid of your raging hard on for her,” Draco burned and almost wished he had his wand so he could curse his cousin, “or you accept that you’re attracted to a muggle-born. Now, you should probably go find Bella and begin strategizing.” She walked away and over her should said, “Tell Astoria I said hi.”

…

Hermione found McGonagall and John talking to some sponsors that Hermione had already met. They were smiling politely and listening to McGonagall talk of John’s accomplishments in District 10, but Hermione knew they had no intention in supporting a muggle-born, just as they had with her. Hermione walking up gave them an opening to leave and move onto better prospects. 

“Oh Hermione, did you get a chance to meet the other tributes?” Her escort asked.

“Most of them, yes.” She caught a glimpse of red in her peripheral and turned to see a group of redheads walking by. 

“Oh Bill,” McGonagall exclaimed. “I was worried we wouldn’t get a chance to see you today. This is Hermione Granger and John Smith of District 10. Hermione, John, this is Bill and Charlie Weasley, mentors to District 5.” She gestured to the two young men leading the group. The taller one had long hair, really long hair. Jewelry adorned his ears, and Hermione forced herself to focus on that, rather than the ugly scars that mangled his otherwise handsome face. His brother was his opposite, his hair while still red, was short and curly. Where Bill was tall and lean, Charlie was bulky, athletically built. 

“Nice to meet you,” Bill smiled and extended a hand. Hermione and John took his and Charlie’s in turn. “This is our brother and sister, Ron and Ginny, tributes for District 5.” Hermione refrained from cursing the ministry aloud at seeing this family. Ron looked to be about her age, and Ginny was somewhat younger. 

“I would love to say it’s good to see you again,” McGonagall said to the tributes, “But given the circumstances. Still, I miss having you two in class.”

“We’ve missed you too, Professor,” Ginny responded, stepping forward and hugging her. At this point, Hermione turned away to give them their moment and saw Tonks walk over to them. She had expected her mentor to reference the encounter with Draco, even with just a smile, but she was looking at Charlie. He looked to her questioningly, and Tonks shook her head. Hermione wondered what that was about, but knew it wasn’t her place to ask.

“We should probably head to the loft,” Bill said. “We’ve still got to go over the tributes and get your wands inspected.”

“You’re right Bill,” McGonagall agreed, “We should probably head home too.” She turned to the younger siblings. “Best of luck you two, I know you’ll make your parents proud.” 

The Weasleys left them and McGonagall led her tributes back into the warehouse and to a fireplace. From there, they traveled to a spacious loft. The main area was fashionable decorated with comfy chairs and sofas. Hermione and John sat on the couch and McGonagall and Tonks sat opposite them on chairs. 

“Now, we should discuss the other tributes,” spoke McGonagall. “These people will either be your allies or your enemies.” She conjured a folder of pictures and laid them on the table in front of them. The first photos she pulled out were of Draco and a beautiful girl. “For District one, we have Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass.” Hermione couldn’t help feeling intimidated by how confidently they held themselves. If she had been a pureblood from the district with the most Victors, she’d probably be pretty confident in herself. 

“They’re sure to be the story of the year,” Tonks added.

“Why is that?” Hermione asked. 

“Well besides some family drama on Draco’s side, there’s also the bit where they’re engaged.”

“They’re engaged!?” While her conversation with Draco had been brief, she expected him to at least mention something as important as having a fiancée.

“I think it’s safe to say the wedding is off,” Tonks said amused. “It was arranged by their parents when they were very young and neither were too happy.” Tonks explained. “But the Capitol will probably focus on the tragic love story doomed from the moment his name was drawn at the Reaping.” Hermione rolled her eyes at that; she wouldn’t be surprised about that at all. 

“Next, we have District 2,” continued McGonagall. “Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson. They will most likely form an alliance with Malfoy and Greengrass.” Hermione agreed with this prediction; the purebloods almost exclusively formed an alliance with each other. Districts 3 and 4, also purebloods, would most likely be a part of that alliance. 

“The Weasleys from 5 would be a good choice for allies.” McGonagall said solemnly, “They were my students, briefly, before the Ministry moved them to District 5. Miss Weasley showed great promise, and her brother was fiercely loyal to his friends. Also, their older brothers are some of the best mentors there is.”

“Next to Sirius and James,” Tonks added. “Which brings us to District 6. Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood.”

“The Longbottoms made their opinion of the Tournament clear from a young age.” McGonagall continued, “As soon as Frank was of age, he began advocating for the end of the Tournament, and Alice was one of those who stood with him. They were tortured by the ministry before moving their family to District 6. Neville is their only child and for a while he was believed to be a squib, so unsure of his abilities. I’m sure by now his abilities have developed, and if he’s anything like his parents, he’s a fighter and true to his beliefs. He won’t be easily corrupted. 

“As for Luna,” McGonagall paused choosing her words carefully. Hermione thought back to the strange girl and understood her escort’s hesitation. “Her father is the author of a news magazine.”

“But I thought the Prophet was the only news source the Ministry allowed?” Hermione interjected. Even in the Districts they weren’t allowed to have local news published and distributed. The Daily Prophet was their only source of news and it provided information on ministry officials, pureblood drama, and the Tournament. Basically, nothing that the Muggle-borns in District 10 cared to know about. 

“Which is precisely why they are residing in District 6,” McGonagall answered. “However, the Ministry feels Mister Lovegood’s magazine is so utterly ridiculous that they allow him to continue publishing. Regardless, Miss Lovegood seems nice and you shouldn’t immediately write her off.

“District 7 is Blaise Zabini and Jane Price.” Hermione looked at the picture of the tall, handsome, black young man. He looked down at her through the picture and Hermione wondered at the half-blood with the arrogance of a pureblood. The witch next to him was young, maybe 12 or 13, and Hermione’s heart broke. 

“I met them,” John spoke for the first time since they had arrived at the loft. “He was the silent brooding type, but she seems nice. Only a year younger than me.”

“Then I recommend you consider an alliance with her, John, but be sure you can trust her.” McGonagall advised. John nodded but spoke no further. 

“District 8 is Harry Potter and Lavender Brown. Based on what I know of his father, Harry would be a very good companion for the Tournament. Miss Brown seems to still be in shock over the whole thing.”

“Poor girl wouldn’t stop crying throughout the whole event,” Tonks added. “Some people just take longer to accept it, I guess. Hopefully she’ll pull herself together.”

…

Harry sat down with his father and Lavender. After bidding farewell to Remus and Sirius, they had arrived at a loft and gone over each tribute, and James was recommending which ones to look out for.

“Most of the purebloods will be out for blood and will have no interest allying with anyone other than each other,” he explained. “However, call me bias,” he said with a chuckle, “but they’re not all bad. One or two of them are feeling the same way as you do now and will be open for alliances with anyone.” Harry nodded thinking back to his father’s Tournament. He had allied himself with a Muggle-born and a couple half-bloods. They were the last surviving group against the other purebloods. You should definitely consider the tributes from 5,” he continued. “The Weasleys are a good family, loyal to a fault, and Bill and Charlie are damn good mentors.” Harry agreed completely. “McGonagall says her witch is very bright, knows more magic than most people think a muggle-born ought to. You should check her out, see if she’s someone you’d be interested in.”

“Is there anyone I should be worried about?” 

“Normally, I’d say the tributes from 11, but you two are lucky this year. Remus says neither tributes have been bitten. Both of their families were just exiles.” Harry breathed a sigh of relief. District 11 had originally been designed to hold werewolves. The ministry rounded them and their immediate families up. However, as time went on, the Ministry began exiling people there as punishment for the worst crimes. Often, these people were bitten by the current residents. Therefore, it was very common for the tributes of 11 to be, or children of, werewolves. 

“However,” James continued, “That just means you’ll be worrying about everyone else instead. Malfoy won his Tournament using dirty tricks, so if his son is anything like him, you’ll have to watch out for that.”

“I thought Malfoy wasn’t mentoring his son?” 

“He’s not. Draco is being mentored by his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, from the Black family. She’s a cruel, sadistic woman whom you should never cross. She’s credited with the most kills during the Tournament.” James shuddered a little. “I remember reading the article about the bodies; sometimes the killing curse was too boring for her.” Eager for a change of subject, James said, “We should discuss strategy. Each of you must present yourselves in a manner that makes the Capitol root for you.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Well every year, each tribute sort of takes on a cliché. I, for example, was the charming pureblood, sure of himself and his right to win. Those of the Capitol who rooted for me did so because I made them think it was the rational thing to do. I had them questioning why they would sponsor anyone other than me.” He explained. “And then, of course, you have the ones that are so beautiful they make the Capitol fall in love with them. There’s the clever ones that treat the Tournament like a battle of wits. There’ll be the one that thinks they can save everyone, and will probably actually save a lot of people while they can. Every year there’s the poor defenseless one that the Capitol will help keep alive,” James paused and his nonchalant face grew somber before continuing, “just so they can watch them be killed at the very end. Because it doesn’t matter how we act before the Tournament starts, once it does, the Capitol expects you all to be ruthless and turn on everyone.” 

“But that won’t happen to me,” Harry argued. He liked the idea of being able to save others. He knew it would be futile, but he refused to let the Tournament turn him into something else. 

“I know that, son,” his father assured him. “If anyone will remain good in the Tournament, it’ll be you.”

…

“Oh, I almost forgot,” McGonagall exclaimed. “Mr. Ollivander will be here any moment to examine your wands and ensure their fit for training tomorrow.” Suddenly there was a pop, and a man appeared before them. “John, Hermione, I believe you’ve met Mr. Ollivander?”

“Of course, they have. Who else would have given them wands?” The elderly man smiled at them brightly. Hermione thought back to the week after her first Reaping Day. She was 11, and while she had been aware of her magical abilities for almost her whole life, she had yet to perform actual magic. An Auror had come to her door, one of the nice ones.

Hermione had answered the door, and he smiled at her and said, “Today, we’re going to get you a wand, so you’ll be a real witch.” Hermione had never been so happy. She, and the rest of her classmates her age, stood in line as a man with a cart full of boxes procured a wand for each of them. Of course, she had only been allowed to do magic in school, but having a wand made her feel safe. A feeling she missed desperately. 

“Mr. Ollivander is going to inspect your wands to make sure they’re in perfect condition for training and for the Games.” McGonagall explained. She then pulled their wands out of her cloak. Hermione had to fight the urge to take hers from her escort’s hand. Training would begin early the next day, so she only had to wait until then to have her wand again. 

Ollivander took the first wand and examined it, “Alright, 13 ¾” Cypress wood with unicorn hair, unyielding. This wand belongs to John Smith.” John nodded. Ollivander produced a flash of light from the tip and smiled. “Very nice, this wand is eager to be doing magic again. How long has it been since you last used it?”

“A few weeks ago, when I was in school.”

“I see, well it is more than eager to be used again.” Next, he grabbed Hermione’s wand. “10 ¾” vine wood with dragon heartstring. This wand is very intelligent, much like its master.” Hermione beamed at the compliment. “I hope you trust this wand to know what it is doing.”

“Always,” Hermione answered. 

“Good, then I am pleased to say these wands are ready for training.” Ollivander bid them farewell, wished them luck, and apparated away. 

“Oh my, look at the time,” McGonagall exclaimed. “You two better be off to bed. We need to be at the training center at 7 o’clock tomorrow morning. You both have had a very long day, and I’m sure you’re both exhausted.” The tributes bid their escort and mentor a goodnight, and retired to their rooms. 

Once alone, McGonagall turned to Tonks.

“Are we sure it’s time?”

“It has to be,” Tonks responded. “Two Weasleys, James’s son, and the Longbottoms’. It’s just like the prophecy said.”

McGonagall sighed, “I suppose you’re right. We’ll just have to wait to see if she’s the one.”

“We both know she is,” Tonks insisted. “We just need to make sure she’s ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided on an OC for the male tribute of District 10, along with a few other unimportant characters. There isn't a lot of named characters throughout the series that are younger than the golden trio and I wanted the tributes to be diverse in age, so original characters were kinda my only option. John's wand is my wand on Pottermore and that's Hermione's wand according to Harry Potter Wiki.


	5. Training Part 1

Hermione awoke the next morning covered in sweat and shaking. She had expected the exhaustion would overwhelm her; instead, the realization of what was happening hit her the moment her head hit the pillow. After crying for several hours, she finally fell into a restless sleep. When her sleep eventually deepened, it was plagued with dreams of strange creatures, flashes of red and green light, and blood-curdling screams that she wasn’t entirely sure weren’t her own. At a quarter to six, she rose and dressed for the day in robes she had found in the closet.

Training took place in an updated warehouse in a secluded part of town. They traveled by Floo, and the mentors were instructed to wait along the wall and watch as the Aurors went over the rules. Hermione watched as one of them sealed the door with about half a dozen spells. 

“Welcome Tributes to the 84th Wizards Tournament,” announced a man. “It is an honor to be assisting in your training this year. I met a few of you last night, but for those of you I missed, my name is Amycus Carrow, and this is my sister Alecto.” He gestured to another Auror a few feet away from him. “We are Aurors for District 6, but for the Tournament, we lead the training of the tributes. The rules are simple: save the fighting for the arena. We will cover dueling; that is reserved for you and your mentor. We are granting you use of your wand. Misuse this privilege, and we will not hesitate to revoke it.” He stepped back, and his sister stepped forward to pick up where he left off. 

“The next week and a half of training is broken down into three parts. The first part will last two days and will focus on basic spells. We cover these to make your life easier in the arena. Fail to learn them, and your chances of surviving slim greatly. Mostly, this part is just a review, at least for those who actually know how to use their wand. 

“The next part is dueling. This will last four days and is the most important part. You cannot expect to win the Tournament if you can’t cast a shield spell or disarm your opponent. Like my brother said, dueling is only allowed between you and your mentor. Aim your wand at another tribute, and you won’t see it again until the arena. Point it at one of us,” she glanced at her brother who smiled at her, “and it may not even make it into the arena.

“The third part is individual study. For that, we ask mentors, Hogwarts professors, and Aurors to make their wisdom available to everyone. For those last four days, you will want to learn as much as you can from each and every person.”

“After your training,” Amycus picked up again, “will be your exam. Each of you will be given less than an hour to prove you are ready for the Tournament. This will be your chance to show sponsors you deserve their support. The score you receive, coupled with our overall rating throughout training, will determine how likely you are to survive. Any questions?” When no one raised a hand, he said, “Let’s begin.”

…

Over the next 12 hours, Hermione learned three things. First, her school in District 10 had taught her nothing. Second, there was a spell for everything. And lastly, Draco Malfoy was the most distracting boy she had ever met. Every time she managed to learn a new spell, he was always in her line of vision casting a congratulatory smile. After a while, she began looking for him when she achieved something, and that was met with that infuriating smirk. 

Overall, she ended her first day of training feeling very accomplished. Out of the tributes not allowed to attend Hogwarts, she learned the most spells. She even did better than Ron, who had attended Hogwarts until his 4th year before his family had been relocated. Out of the purebloods, only Draco, Theo, and the girl from 3 actually knew what they were doing. The half-bloods did surprisingly well, especially Harry and Blaise, implying their pureblood parents did some homeschooling. 

They had finished that day’s lessons and were encouraged to use the remaining time to reach out to other tributes. Hermione ignored the envious glares and looks of awe she was getting and debated over whether she should choose now to approach Harry about an alliance. There was no doubt that just in the first day she had already been managed to be marked a target by the purebloods, so she would understand if Harry didn’t want to pair himself with her. Before she reached a decision, a figure stepped in front of her. 

She shouldn’t have been surprised to see that it was Draco. Despite having his constant attention all day, he had yet to speak to her. Hermione had assumed that was because he had finally realized her blood status and hadn’t wanted anyone to see them talking. Nevertheless, here he was smirking at her as though he knew something she didn’t. She was grateful to have had the day to steady her nerves and swore she wouldn’t fall under his charm this time. 

“Hello Granger, you did marvelous today.” She fought to ignore the butterflies that erupted in her stomach at hearing him say her name, even if it was her last name. 

“Thank you, Malfoy. You did very well yourself.” Draco startled her with a scoff.

“No, I did pretty awful compare to you. Six years at Hogwarts and I can’t even do accio.”

“But you did superb compared to your fellow District 1 tribute.” Draco laughed at that, laughed hard. It was only then that Hermione remembered the engagement. Her face burned as she realized that not only had she been flirting with a man who was spoken for, she had just insulted his fiancé. “I’m terribly sorry; I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it’s nice to hear the truth about Astoria. Usually people just talk about how pretty she is, but looks will only get her so far in the Tournament. It’s not as if the sponsors can kill her opponents for her. Though I’m sure they would if they could.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m flattered you think me more attractive than her, but no I don’t think they can kill for me either.” Hermione flushed again. She seriously began to believe her face would be a permanent shade of red. 

“No, I meant do you plan on defending her?” She elaborated, dreading the answer. 

“Why? Because when I was four, my parents decided I was incapable of choosing my own wife and picked one for me?” His tone was light, but Hermione worried she had struck a nerve. “No, I stopped thinking of her as my fiancée the moment her name was called. I’d consider an alliance with her, if she didn’t hate me.”

“Why would she hate you?” How could anyone hate that face?

“She blames me for not being able to be with her ‘one true love’,” Draco explained, rolling his eyes.

“And who would that be?”

Draco nodded over to Theo who was gazing across the room. Hermione realized he was looking at Astoria who was staring back, a lovesick smile on her face.

“How did that happen?” 

Draco shrugged. “Beats me, but it’s not my business anymore.” 

Hermione couldn’t believe she was getting caught up in pureblood drama like a common Capitol citizen, but for some reason she was fascinated by Draco. Talking to him was so easy, like talking to Tonks. At the thought of her mentor, Hermione looked around the room and saw her talking to Lupin. She had her usual pink hair today, however it was darker than it had been, and Hermione realized she was arguing with the older man. Before she could ask Draco about it, a demanding voice interrupted her. 

“Alright tributes, time to hand over your wands.” Amycus and Alecto were walking around with a box collecting everyone’s wands. When Amycus reached them, he sneered, “I see you’ve just about got the mudblood lifting her skirts for you Malfoy. Try not to let Daddy find out; he might be even more disappointed in you, if that’s even possible.” Hermione worried for a moment Draco might do something stupid. She saw him clench his jaw and grip his wand a little tighter, but then he smiled that charming smile. He handed over his wand, and Hermione released the breath she didn’t know she was holding. 

Amycus sneered again before turning to her. “You too, mudblood.” Hermione handed over hers without hesitation; the last thing she needed was to upset the person scoring her. Before he walked away, he turned and added, “Don’t let today fool you into thinking you have any chance of winning. You’re still a mudblood.” Once he was out of earshot, Draco turned to Hermione. 

“I’m sorry about that. I have a bit of a reputation in District 1, hence the skirts comment.” Hermione wasn’t at all surprised. With his charm, she was sure he could seduce just about anyone. 

“It’s fine, I’m used to Aurors being pigs. What was that remark about your father?”

“I was sure everyone had heard by now, but my guess is you don’t make it a habit to listen to gossip.” Hermione shook her head.

“You see, my father’s a Victor” Draco began. “He volunteered when he was 17, and he won. I’m sure volunteering isn’t common in your District, but for purebloods, we do it all the time. Well, I turned 17 a couple months ago, and my father told everyone I was following in his footsteps, going to volunteer like him. Only thing is that I had no intention of volunteering. Sure, it was great growing up and telling all my friends I’m going to volunteer, until it’s a month before Reaping Day, and you realize you’ve never killed a person before, and you don’t like the idea of it.” It was such a simple thing to say, but Hermione noticed Draco struggled and seemed almost embarrassed to admit he wasn’t a murderer.

“So, I tell him this, rather everyone know I changed my mind beforehand than let them think I chickened out at the Reaping. My father didn’t think too kindly of this. Our relationship had become strained a few years ago, but now it’s worse than ever. So, Reaping Day rolls around, and by then everyone’s heard the scandal, and they’re waiting to see if I’ll change my mind to ‘restore the family honor’.” He pauses dramatically and leans in to her. “Now, you’re not going to believe this next part.”

“You get Reaped?” Hermione felt like she should be laughing but couldn’t bring herself to.

“I get reaped!” Draco laughs, and it almost sounds genuine. “So now, I’m the tribute, and it’s like they held a District meeting the day before, because no one volunteers. There were at least three other guys who had been training, but conveniently, none of them step forward.” Hermione reached out a hand and placed it on his arm. He was still smiling but it wasn’t reaching his eyes. By now, it was clear those witches had been talking about him. Most of the Capitol would be talking about this. 

“I’m so sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. 

“It’s not your fault,” he looked perplexed at her sympathy. “It’s just the life of a pureblood,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “At least I’m able to say I saw something truly beautiful before I die.” His gaze travel over her body, and Hermione thought back to what Amycus had said. She hated to admit it, but their trainer’s words had gotten to her. Hearing Draco be open about this just made her question it even more.

“Why are you talking to me?” She could tell her words caught Draco off guard. He stepped back and furrowed his brows. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a pureblood, and I’m a muggle-born, a mudblood,” Hermione added for emphasis. “We’re about to engage in a fight to the death in which you are almost guaranteed to be the Victor, and here you are flirting with me!” Hermione struggled to control her volume. The last thing she needed was to have their relationship, or whatever this was, to be the latest gossip amongst tributes. 

He seemed just as confused and frustrated as she was. 

“I don’t know!” he retorted before walking away. Hermione watched him stalk across the warehouse to his mentor. She was glaring at him, and Hermione wondered if she had been watching them talk. They approached the fireplace, and with a glance in her direction, Draco disappeared in the flames. 

By then, Hermione didn’t have time to talk to Harry about forming an alliance, so she settled for finding Tonks and John. Her mentor, she saw, was still talking to Lupin. The older man appeared to be struggling to remain patient as Tonks explained something in a furious whisper. When he rolled his eyes, her hair turned a dark red. He threw up his hands in apology, but Hermione didn’t think it looked genuine. Suddenly James appeared next to them. He briefly joined them in their secretive conversation before pulling Lupin away. 

Deciding it was safe for he to talk to her mentor now, Hermione approached Tonks. Her hair was gradually fading back to pink, but she still looked frustrated. 

“Tonks?” At hearing her name, her mentor turned and smiled tiredly at Hermione. “Is everything ok?”

“Honestly?” Tonks hesitated before answering, “Not really, but it will be. Are you ready to go back to the loft?”

“Definitely.”

“Alright, let’s find John and get out of here.” They found John talking to the girl from 7, and Hermione found herself surprised at the envy she felt towards her fellow tribute. She should be proud of him for finding an ally and start focusing on finding her own as well. 

Back at the loft, Hermione and Tonks sat in the living room waiting for dinner. John was in the shower, and McGonagall was ‘attending to Tournament business’ according to Tonks. 

“So, how did it go?”

“You were there?” Hermione was confused by the question. 

“No, not training,” Tonks exasperated. “I meant talking to Draco!”

“Oh right, not the thing I was doing for 12 hours in hope of actually surviving. You meant the part of my day where a pureblood poured out his heart to me all the while undressing me with his eyes?”

“Poured his heart out to you huh? What about?” 

“The thing with his father.”

“Ahh, I see.” Tonks murmured thoughtfully.

“What all do you know about it?” Hermione couldn’t fight the curiosity.

“I’ve known Lucius Malfoy my whole life; he’s married to one of my mother’s sisters.” She continued slowly, “He’s changed over the years, grown cruel. Cissy told my mum once that he’s not the same man she married and fell in love with, but she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him, says there’s hope he could go back to being himself.”

“Do you believe that?”

“The world would have to become a completely different place first. A place where being a pureblood or a muggle-born mean absolutely nothing.”

“Well that’ll never happen.” There were few things Hermione was completely sure about, and this was one of them. The Tournament had been going on for almost a century and there had never been any talk of it ending. Besides, the world had hated muggle-borns long before then. 

“Stranger things have happened,” Tonks shrugged nonchalantly. 

Getting back on topic, Hermione asked, “So why do you think Draco talks to me? He doesn’t even seem to know.”

“Muggle-born or not, you’re hot Hermione and he can’t deny that.” Hermione scoffed.

“I am not!” She had never been hot before, nor had she ever been looked at the way Draco does. 

“Of course, you are. Especially in that dress last night.” Hermione wondered if that was true. She thought back to any of her classmates in District 10. None of them had ever seen her as anything other than the know-it-all with buck teeth and bushy hair. Now however, she had average sized teeth, and her hair was still in check from last night’s styling. Hermione realized Draco wouldn’t have seen her as anything other from this put together mature looking witch that she appeared to be. 

“So, what? He expects me to be flattered by his flirting until we’re in the arena and he’s trying kill me?”

“Draco may be a lot of things, but he’s not a murderer. He’ll do what it takes to protect himself, but he’s not going to be the one hunting down everyone else. Besides, if he’s as smart as he likes to think he is, he’ll be in an alliance with you.”

“Who says I want an alliance with him?” 

“You if you’re as smart as you think you are. Draco was holding back today, probably doesn’t want the other purebloods to see him as a threat. If Theo thinks there’s anyone capable of beating him, they’ll be the first he’ll go after in the arena. And he’d be a fool to not see you as a threat.”

“I appreciate your faith in me,” Hermione said, “but I’m no match for a pureblood that’s almost top of his class.”

“With the right allies, you are. Have you considered anyone?”

“Well actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. What all do you know about Potter, Black, and Lupin?”

“Well, Sirius is my cousin, and though we didn’t grow up together, we’ve spent almost every tournament together since I won my year. James is a good friend, it’s hard not to like him. And Remus and I get along for the most part.” Hermione thought back to their argument she witnessed earlier. She debated on asking her mentor about it but decided it probably wasn’t any of her business. “Why do you ask?”

Hermione told her about Filch’s advice. 

“Every Victor has had the chance to learn what they can about the arena, but I can’t imagine what those three could’ve learned that nobody else knows. They won the Tournament back to back though, so whatever they know, I’m guessing is pretty crucial. I have to agree with Filch, and Harry is probably your best shot. James wouldn’t hold back anything to save his son. You’ll want to consider the Weasley’s also. They’re a good family,” Tonks added.

“That would be for the best,” Hermione admitted. “Harry and Ron have already seemed to form an alliance. Now it’s just a matter of getting them to include me in it.”

“That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“I was never very good at making friends,” Hermione admitted. 

“I hate to say this Hermione, but you don’t need them to be your friends. You just need them to need you. You’re smart, show them that they need you and they’ll give you what you need.”

…

“Don’t worry, Ron. I’m sure you’ll do much better today.” Ginny knew no matter what she said, she’d be unable to reassure her brother. Still, she had to try. “Harry from 8 said he’d help you with some of the spells, right?” Ron nodded but didn’t make a comment. 

It was the second day of training, and Ginny could tell Ron was losing faith in his ability to protect her in the arena. Even though the last thing she needed was his sacrifice, she did need him to go in into the arena with a determination to live. She had been relieved when another tribute had sought them out door an alliance. At first, Ginny thought it was a bit soon, but with Harry’s father and their brothers as mentors, she figured they saw each other as their best bet for survival. 

Ginny had felt pretty good that first day and was more than eager to figure out the rest of the spells on their second day. She had only been halfway though her second year at Hogwarts when their family was classified as Blood traitors. However, she still had that advantage over the other non-Hogwarts students. Ginny hoped that advantage would be enough in the Tournament. She knew she also needed an alliance, one separate from Ron. In order to limit the number of chances he would have to sacrifice himself for her, she would have to be as far away from him as possible. 

Ginny’s thoughts drifted to the half-blood boy who she caught staring at her the previous day. More than once, she felt his gaze on her. If he was sizing her up as a potential enemy, she’d have to prove she’d be more useful as an ally. 

…

Hermione looked around the training center and spotted who she was looking for. Harry and Ron were standing off to the side practicing spells. Ron kept yawning while trying to say the spell which resulted in him failing repeatedly. Hermione could hardly blame him though; the tributes had been dragged through the fireplace by their mentors a 6 o’clock sharp that morning. She took a breath and prepared herself. She had no expectation that either of them would want to ally with a muggle-born, but she had to try. 

As she neared the pair, she heard what spell they were attempting to do. 

“Whingardium Leviosa,” Ron practically shouted, thrashing his wand about. As expected, the spell had no effected on the feather at which it was aimed. “It’s not working,” he complained. 

“You’ll figure it out eventually Ron,” Harry said reassuringly. 

“Not bloody likely,” Ron argued. “We covered this as first years, and I never managed it then.”

“Mind if I help?” Hermione said quietly as she approached. Ron looked at her skeptically, but Harry just appeared surprised. She decided this was her best bet to prove herself as a capable ally. “You’re saying it wrong. It’s WhinGardium LeviOsa, not LevioSAR. Also, the wand movement is swish and flick, like so.” She pulled out her wand and demonstrated. A moment later, the feather levitated in the air. Ron and Harry stared in amazement. Hermione beamed before reminding herself the idea wasn’t to show off. 

“Can you help us with some other spells?” Hermione and Ron stared incredulously at Harry. Neither seemed to have expected him to be so open to help. 

“We don’t need her help, Harry,” Ron stated. 

“Between the two of us, we know how to do five of the twenty spells they recommend we know.”

“I’ve learned all of them,” Hermione pointed out. Harry looked at Ron having proven his point. 

“Alright fine.” Ron grumbled. 

For the next few hours, Hermione taught them how to do the majority of the spells. For most of them, Harry and Ron had the right idea, they just had to improve their enunciation or wand movement. With her help, they had mastered the summoning charm, levitating objects, conjuring water, the unlocking charm, and a few others.

“Thanks Hermione, you’ve been loads of help.” Harry said appreciatively. He elbowed Ron who muttered an insincere ‘thanks’. “We’re going to keep working on these spells on our own, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Hermione smiled hesitantly, “let me know if you need any more help.”

Harry watched her walk away, dreading what Ron would have to say. Sure enough, the moment she was out of earshot, Ron began.

“You can’t possibly be considering her as an ally!”

“Why not?”

“She’s a bloody know-it-all, that why. She’s probably really bossy also, and I’ve seen her with Malfoy from 1. We can’t trust him.”

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron’s dramatics. While he was grateful for their instant friendship given the circumstances, he had to admit his new friend was a bit overzealous sometimes. “We both know being a pureblood isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Harry looked at him pointedly. Had Ron’s family not been relocated to District 5, he would be a pureblood from 2. Also, Harry’s father was a prime example of a pureblood that preferred mixed blood allies. 

“It’s not just that he’s a pureblood. He’s a Malfoy. We can’t trust him.”

“My father said the same thing, but we need Hermione,” Harry countered. “I’m not saying we ally with him, but we should seriously consider her.”

…

Draco watched Hermione walk away from the tributes from 5 and 8. He was familiar with both of their families. His father had often complained about the Weasleys and how they never seemed to appreciate what it meant to have a pure bloodline. No one in their family had ever volunteered. Lucius had also talked of the scandal that occurred when James Potter had opted to move to District 8 with a Muggle-born to raise a family. 

Draco found himself wondering how his father would react to him marrying a Muggle-born. Before he could grow embarrassed for immediately thinking of Hermione, he realized he would have no way to find out. Though he knew he was smart enough to win the Tournament, he found he had no desire in seeing anyone win besides Hermione. He just wished he could see the look on his father’s face when a Muggle-born turned out to be the Victor. 

“Tell me Malfoy, what has captivated your interest so fully?” A voice behind him drawled. Had Draco been deeper in thought, the figure suddenly standing behind him may have started him, but Draco knew better than to let his guard down. 

“Nothing that concerns you Nott,” Draco replied casually, but the threat beneath his voice was clear. 

“Of course, it does Malfoy. As probable allies, what distracts you, concerns me,” the district 2 tribute argued. 

“I’d have thought Astoria made it clear we were not to be allies.” Nott snorted indelicately.

“In any other scenario, I’d follow Astoria’s wishes to the death. But I’d be a fool to not side with you.”

Draco smiled charmingly at Nott thinking of how best to phrase what he was thinking. 

“I have no intention of being your ally, Nott. Regardless of how Astoria would take it, I wouldn’t pair myself with someone who volunteered to be a murderer.” 

“It’s not murder, and you know it.”

“Why? Because the Ministry demands it?” He turned away, but before he could take a step, Nott grabbed his arm. 

“You say that now, but we both know that as soon as we’re in that arena, you’ll be doing whatever it takes to survive, just like everyone else.” He leaned close and whispered, “You’ll regret not taking my side,”

“I guess we’ll see.”

…

Hermione ended the second day feeling even more accomplished than the first. She had perfected every spell, assisted a couple potential allies, and kept adequate space between her and Draco. While she couldn’t deny she found him attractive, she had no idea whether she could trust him. For all she knew, his plan could just be to seduce her into a false sense of security and then killing her once the tournament started. Tonks had assured her that her cousin was not that kind of person, but you don’t truly know someone until they’re face to face with death. 

Once again, she spotted her mentor talking to Lupin. After their talk last night, Tonks agreed to find out anything she could about any secret information from the other mentors. Based on how dark Tonk’s hair was growing, Hermione doubted she was making much progress. She looked back towards Harry and Ron to gage if they had reached a decision about her, but she saw they were talking to Harry’s father and Sirius Black.

…

“Are you sure about her Harry?”

“Completely,” Harry answered immediately. His father and godfather looked at him doubtfully. Like Ron, they were hesitant to trust someone who had been seen talking to Malfoy. 

“I don’t trust her,” Ron offered. “Not with how much Malfoy watches her.” Harry sighed at his friend’s prejudice. From what he had heard from his father, he understood not trusting Malfoy, but Hermione had helped them a lot so far, and they had still more to learn. 

“We don’t stand a chance without her,” Harry argued. “She’s the smartest tribute here, and we haven’t got a clue what we’re up against in there.” Ron couldn’t argue with that. 

“Alright,” James said. “If you two think you can trust her then seek out an alliance with her.”

“But,” Sirius added, “Figure out where Malfoy stands. If he has an alliance with her, make sure you’re included in that. The last thing you need is an enemy who so easily could’ve been an ally. And don’t tell her anything until you absolutely have to.”

James nodded in agreement. “Allies are only allies until you’ve run out of enemies.”

…

Tonks was doing her best not to yell but she was getting frustrated. 

“Just tell me what you know,” she said sternly.

“It doesn’t concern you,” Remus argued. 

“It concerns my tribute, so therefore it concerns me,” she reasoned. “If you, James, or Sirius have information that can help Hermione survive the Tournament, then you should tell me.”

“Why? Because you’re so open about what you know?” Remus shot back. The hurt look on her face almost made him take it back, but he stood his ground. 

“I can’t talk about that yet, and you know it,” she said meekly, “and you know that. McGonagall made me swear.”

“Was it an unbreakable vow?”

“You know it wasn’t, but that doesn’t mean I can just break my promise.” Remus looked away frustrated. He had wanted to tell Tonks from the beginning, but James and Sirius made him swear not to. Remus would’ve told her anyway, believing she would do the same for him, but then he discovered she was keeping a something from him, something vastly more important than a few secrets about the arena. He knew, though, that she had a point. If McGonagall made her promise not to tell, he understood the depth of that oath.

“I’ll leave it up to the tributes,” he said after a moment. “If Harry wants to tell her, I’ll not try to stop him, if anything I’ll encourage it.” 

“Thank you,” Tonks accepted what she could. He could’ve just told her to screw off. Any other mentor there, besides the Weasleys probably, would never consider disclosing information to another mentor, not even their allies. “And I’m sorry, I can’t tell you. You know I would if I could.”

“Yeah, I know.” He looked at her as though he almost forgave her for what she did. Almost, but not quite. 

…

Having decided her conversation with Remus was over, Tonks went in search of her younger cousin. She found on the side of the room, watching Hermione as expected. 

“Like what you see?” 

“You know I do Dora.” Tonks chuckled at the frustration in his voice. It was clear he wasn’t happy with himself. 

“And have you decided what you’re going to do about it? You’re not being exactly subtle about your attraction to her. If your enemies decide to use her against you, you’ll want to be near her to keep her safe.”

“She doesn’t need my protection,” Draco argued. 

“Maybe not your protection, but she could definitely use your help. We both know you’re the only one here who actually rivals her intelligence. The two of you together would be unstoppable.”

“Is that the only reason you want me as her ally?”

“Well that, and I think you two would be adorable together.” Tonks admitted with a smirk. “Besides, you deserve something good Draco.”

“Before I die, you mean?” He asked with a smirk of his own.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she gave him a pointed look. “You know you’re more than capable of winning this Tournament.”

“If I really wanted to, yeah of course I could.” She would’ve scoffed at his arrogance if his words hadn’t completely caught her off guard. 

“If? What do you mean ‘if’?”

“I mean if I had any intention of proving my father right, then yeah I could win this thing, no questions asked.”

“Draco.” He avoided his cousin’s eyes, and it was clear he had regretted saying anything. “If you even consider dying to spite Lucius, I will personally help your mother resurrect you so she can kill you for being so selfish.” 

He made no comment, his eyes focused on something across the room. The bittersweet expression on his face told Tonks exactly what, or rather who, he was looking at. 

“You really think we’d be good together?”

“I do, Draco. I really do.”


	6. Training Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post, I kinda lost steam on this and it took me all weekend to type up the last couple scenes. In this chapter we get a glimpse of Theo's POV, but we'll get more as the story progresses.

“Alright tributes, now that some of you have mastered basic spells, we’ll move onto dueling.” Alecto announced to them Friday morning. “For some, this will come easy and will prove to be your greatest strength.” She looked to some of the purebloods as she said this. 

“For others,” Amycus continued, looking at Neville, “inability to learn dueling will be the sole reason you won’t survive the Tournament. You could learn every spell and survival techniques we have to offer, but failure to think fast on your feet, and none of that other stuff matters.

“We’ll cover dueling for four days, but before we begin, let’s review some important things. There will be no dueling between tributes, not even your supposed allies,” Amycus sneered. “Dueling is restricted to the dummies and your mentor, should they be stupid enough to let you point your wand at them. Direct your wand at anyone else and you will continue training without it,” he promised. 

…

Hermione learned that as she progressed through training, the number of potential allies lessened as the number of more-than-likely enemies increased. When learning basic spells, she got looks of awe and admiration; as she and Tonks dueled, those looks turned to hateful jealousy. Hermione noticed Nott seemed to be sporting this look more than anyone else. 

She had seen him talk to Malfoy more than a couple times, and Hermione found herself wondering if they had an alliance set up. Normally that wouldn’t surprise her, but Malfoy had all but said he wasn’t interested in being part of the offensive side of the Tournament. However, if they had decided to ally, that would mean he had lost interest in her. Good, she decided, it would be easier to get Harry and Ron to trust her if there wasn’t a pureblood hanging around her all the time. 

While Hermione had excelled at both charms and dueling, others showed more progress in this stage than they had the first. Ginny Weasley, proved to be better than her brother and even a few of the other purebloods, besides Draco who definitely had a knack at it. Harry also seemed to be a natural, although Hermione suspected he and his father had dueled before. The way they anticipated each other’s moved implied previous experience. 

After taking a break from her duel with Tonks, Hermione wandered around the gym watching other duels. Although she had told herself not to pay any attention to him, Hermione couldn’t help but notice how good Malfoy was doing. She didn’t appreciate how fast his aunt was throwing curses at him, but he was able to block each one and throw a few himself. He’d yet to catch her off guard, but Hermione was hopeful he’d get at least one stunning curse in there. 

Before either could successfully curse the other, the two called a draw. Hermione could hardly hide her relief at finding Malfoy unharmed as he walked over to her.

“What? You think I couldn’t handle that?” he joked with her. She hesitated with her response making him smirk. “I guess you’re not always right then huh?” Hermione rolled her eyes at that but smiled too. 

“I should get back to practicing,” Hermione lied, wanting to escape his charm. 

“Right, wouldn’t want Potter and Weasley to think we have a sort of arrangement.” She stopped mid-turn and looked up at him questioningly. 

“What would you know about that?”

“I know that you’re desperate for an alliance with them, enough to spend three hours yesterday morning going over wand movements with them. You wouldn’t ally yourself with someone who will need their hand held throughout the whole tournament, unless they had something you didn’t. You’re about the smartest witch here, so there’s not much else you need, unless one of them knows something that only the child of a victor would know. If the Weasley’s have valuable information, you’d be better off with the Weaselette. At least she knows how to work her wand. So, it must be Potter who knows something, and my guess is, he’s not too keen on the idea of us being friendly.”

Hermione had to admit she was impressed Draco had managed to deduce all that. The look on her face must have revealed that, because he said, “Don’t appear so shocked that I actually notice what’s going on around me.” 

“I’m impressed actually.” Hermione admitted. “You’ve essentially figured out the only plan I have so far.” Realizing this disconcerted Hermione more than a little. If Draco could figure it out on halfway through their third day of training, how long until Harry and Ron realized what she needed from them and held it against her? 

Draco couldn’t deny it. Seeing Hermione furrow her brow in contemplative thought made her just as attractive, if not more so, than when he first saw her. By now, her hair had started to unravel, and he itched to bury his hands in her loose curls. She was obviously concerned about how easily he had seen through her attempt at an alliance with Potter and Weasley. Perhaps he should inform her that it was only obvious to him because he had done nothing but watch her from the moment she stepped through the fireplace that first day of training. 

Her inquiry of his attraction to her the other day had stumped him, although if he was honest he knew exactly what he was doing. Draco had had every intention of winning the Tournament, figured it would be pretty easy too, but he hadn’t expected a Muggle-born to be as smart as Hermione was. He had accepted she was one of the most attractive witches he had ever seen, and wanted nothing more than to get to know her. But he discovered she was not only beautiful and smart, she was insecure, kind, and passionate. He imagined she would be just the same in bed, and that made him yearn for her even more. However, it was also apparent she lacked experience in that department which meant a quick romp in the arena before either of them died wouldn’t be an option.

Draco didn’t know why, but somehow overnight, he no longer cared about winning the Tournament if it meant depriving the world of Hermione Granger. Instead, he was completely content with the idea of dying just as long as she was the last thing he saw. Well, maybe he wasn’t entirely ok with dying, but he would have time to prepare for it. Write some letters for his mother and father, maybe some of his favorite professors, and hopefully snog a beautiful witch, then he could die a happy man. 

Draco realized neither of them had spoken for a while, both lost in thought, Hermione looking at the floor and Draco at her. Hermione seemed to realize it as well, for she looked up him, a faint blush on her cheeks. Draco wondered if she was ever not embarrassed. As though she could read his mind, her blush deepened. 

“As I said, I should get back to practicing.” And with that she walked away. 

Draco had but a moment alone before a figure approached him. 

“I ought to just kill you now, Draco. Save the family the disgrace of having a muggle-lover in the family.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Aunt Bella,” Draco replied coolly, refusing to meet his aunt’s eyes. 

“Oh please, Draco, it’s obvious you’ve become smitten with the Mudblood. Everyone here sees you staring at her all day and flirt with her every chance you get. It’s disgusting, and you should be ashamed!”

Draco finally turned and looked at his aunt. She was an eccentric lady, beautiful like the other women of the Black family, and her hatred for muggles was as strong as her jawline. Many Christmas dinners were spent listening to her describe her favorite kills from her Tournament, and she made a sport out of harassing the muggles in their district. 

“And what happens Bella, when Granger, a mudblood, wins the Tournament?”

“That’ll never happen!” Bellatrix exclaimed. “A mudblood has never won, and never will.”

“I guess we’ll see. In the meantime, I don’t want to talk to you about her.” 

“I’ll waste no more breath on the matter.” 

…

Ginny gripped her wand tight, ready to caste the spell at the right moment. 

“Come on Ginny, you won’t hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that Bill. I barely blocked her bat bogey hex earlier.”

“I think I can handle myself against a 15-year-old girl, Charlie. Especially if she’s just going to stand there rather than actually cast any spells.” Ginny ignored her brothers and let her eyes flick to the side briefly. He was dueling his mentor, but it seemed to be coming to an end. She took a breath and flexed her wand arm a bit. Finally, she heard the clapping to signify their duel had come to an end. She opened her mouth to cast an offensive charm. 

“Honestly Gin. I’ll just start, ok? Expelliarmus!” Before she could cast her spell, Bill hit her with a disarming spell. Well, would’ve hit her. Ginny blocked the spell and responded with own. Bill managed to block the first spell she threw, and the second and third, but not the fourth. He went flying backwards and landed with a thud against the wall. A weak chuckle informed them he was ok. Clapping erupted around her, and Ginny smiled triumphally. With a subtle peek, she confirmed he was one of the ones clapping, but it was slow, almost lazy. She almost grew disheartened at that, until she met his eyes which practically screamed “You can do better than that.” And Ginny knew it was true. 

“Charlie, would you like to go next?” She asked with an innocent expression. 

“Fine, but no bat bogey hex!” Ginny chuckled and glance towards him again. She saw he was no longer looking at her but talking to Draco Malfoy. Ginny wondered about that, but before she could think on it too much, Charlie declared he was ready. 

…

Harry watched his father attempt to coax Lavender into a duel. She had done decently in the basic spells section, and Harry had discovered she was a fast learner. However, she was definitely not accepting her fate with grace as most others were. Granted, she didn’t have the information Harry had. He had argued with his father about telling her too, but James cautioned against it. It was too much of a risk to tell anybody they didn’t completely trust. 

It was clear, his father didn’t think Hermione should be one of the people Harry trusted, but that wasn’t his say. Hermione had gone out of her way to help him and Ron; he had no idea why, but he wasn’t about to complain. She obviously needed allies, especially considering how many potential enemies she had by now, either by being better than expected, or by being friendly with Malfoy. Harry had to admit that made him uneasy too. Everything his father told him about the Malfoys and the Blacks made Harry sure he would never trust one. But for someone who supposedly hated anything muggle related-especially muggle-borns-Malfoy sure spent a lot of time undressing Hermione with his eyes. 

Like now, Harry realized, Malfoy was watching her from across the room. Harry snorted in amusement at how obvious Malfoy was. Sure, he was trying to be subtle about it, but he wasn’t succeeding. Although, Harry realized, this time his look was less craving, more admiration. Hermione was dueling her mentor again, and doing remarkably well. Her hair had completely unraveled from the effort, it was clear her mentor was barely holding back, if at all, and her face was flushed. Even from this distance, Harry could see the sheen of perspiration on her face and chest. Of all the times for Harry to understand Malfoy’s lust for the witch, his look was softer, proud and affectionate. 

If Harry was honest with himself, he would admit he had wondered if Malfoy’s crush on Hermione was all just a ploy, some way to earn points with the capitol and get sponsors. The Capitol loved nothing more than drama, and a forbidden love between a pureblood and a Muggle-born during the Tournament would be exactly that. But then either Malfoy was the best actor Harry had ever seen, or he was truly growing infatuated with Hermione. 

…

“Alright Hermione, we should take a break,” Tonks said. Her tribute was making doing superb, and Tonks had worn herself out trying to beat her. 

“Good idea,” Hermione gasped out, leaning forward. She took a few breaths before wandering away. Tonks watched her walk over to Ginny where she probably was asking about the bat bogey hex they had heard her brothers mention. 

Tonks had to admit she was more than impressed with Hermione. She didn’t think she’d had much practice with dueling but that didn’t stop her. Hermione was fast on her feet and knew when to be offensive and when to be defensive. Had there been any doubt in her mind over whether or not Hermione was the one, it was gone now. 

“What’s making you think so hard?” Tonks jumped slightly at the sudden voice behind her. She turned to see her cousin, Sirius, standing there. 

“Merlin, Sirius, would it kill you to give a girl some warning?” 

“And miss out on scaring you? Yes, it would kill me. I’d die instantly.” He said with mock seriousness. “Anyway, what’s got you so lost in thought?” 

“Just thinking about how much Hermione has surprised me.” 

“Don’t tell me you took the challenge of mentoring District 10, and now you’re disappointed your witch can actually do magic.” 

“I’m not disappointed, I just didn’t think she’d more competent than any pureblood I’ve ever mentored.”

“Now that’s an exaggeration if I’ve ever heard one.” 

“I’m not so sure. She’s smart and confident, but not arrogant. She’s honest with herself about what she knows, and what she still needs.”

“And what does she need?”

“The complete trust of her allies.” Tonks gave him a pointed look.

“Hey now, don’t look at me like that. Harry and Ron aren’t my tributes. She’s more than welcome to consider Neville and Luna as allies, they make a good team.”

“Oh, don’t play that Sirius. You know damn well they don’t know whatever it is Harry and Ron know. And I know you’re one of the reasons why they won’t tell Hermione what that thing is.” She fought to keep the irritation out of her voice, but if her own cousin couldn’t trust her, then how was Hermione supposed to be trusted? 

“Now listen,” he was getting a bit annoyed too, “I don’t know why you seem to think we know something, but James, Remus, and I have already decided to leave it up to the tributes. If they feel they can trust her, then they’ll tell her whatever it is they know. In the meantime, maybe you should tell your tribute to be careful who she hangs out with. The other tributes might be more inclined to trust her if she spent a little less time being seduced by a Malfoy.” Tonks looked over her should and saw that Hermione was still talking to Ginny, but now Draco had joined them.

“He’s our cousin, Sirius, his blood is the same as ours.” 

“Difference is, we don’t wear our blood as a crown and make Muggles bow down before us.”

“In case, you haven’t noticed, he’s currently talking civilly, even flirting, with a Muggle-born and blood traitor. He’s not Lucius, Sirius. You of all people should know sons don’t always grow up to be their father.” And with that, Tonks walked away. 

It had been the same with Remus: nobody trusted her. She understood Remus not wanting to tell her after she had admitted she was keeping her own secret from him, but Sirius was her cousin. Tonks could only hope Harry and Ron would get over their prejudices as Draco apparently had and trust Hermione. 

…

“Your brothers are going to kill me, you know” Draco said amusingly. “They can’t stand the idea of me even talking to you.”

“Not all of them, just Ron. Bill and Charlie know I can take care of myself.” Ginny argued. Hermione laughed at that. She had spent the morning between duels with Tonks watching Ginny hex her oldest brothers. 

“Well I think you should show him just how capable you are.” Draco said with a wink. 

“Are you suggesting I hex Ron?” Ginny looked absolutely gleeful at the idea, and Hermione got the impression again that Ginny was less than pleased at the idea of Ron wanting to protect her in the arena. 

“I’m saying you should do whatever you want, Little Red. Witches like you deserve to have fun.” Hermione wondered at the nickname. As far as she knew, this was the first time Draco and Ginny had spoken, but they already seemed comfortable with each other. 

“What is that supposed to mean? Witches like me?” She almost looked like she was offended but, like Hermione, Ginny knew he was just going to say something charming.

“Smart, witty, strong, fierce, you know the type. You have how many older brothers? I’m guessing you can keep up with all of them, probably even pass a few of them.” It was clear he was referring to Ron, and Hermione felt bad for laughing at that, but it was true. 

“So, since I can do whatever I want, what do you suppose I should do?” 

“Well first off, you have to get some distance from your brother. Find an alliance as far away from him as possible.” Hermione was surprised at the advice, and it seemed Ginny was too. “Then, when you no longer have to worry about him dying for you, you fight like hell to win the Tournament, because if anybody deserves to win, it’s one of you two.” Draco looked to both Ginny then her, but his gaze lingered on her a bit longer. Hermione suddenly realized she had no idea what she looked like, but however she looked, Draco seemed to like it. At an amused chuckle from Ginny, Draco pulled his eyes away from her. 

“But, before you win the game-or die tragically but beautifully-you have to promise me you’ll do something.” He leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. Hermione yearned to know what cause Ginny’s eyes to pop and her face to grow as red as her hair. It was clear though by Ginny’s face and Draco’s smirk that it would never be repeated. “Promise?” Ginny hesitated before finally smiling. 

“Alright, yeah I promise.” She said reluctantly. At first, she refused to meet Hermione’s eye, and when she did her, her face was a perfect mask of innocence. 

“Should I even bother asking?”

“You can ask,” Ginny replied with a smirk that rivaled Draco’s. 

Hermione chuckled at that and realized she wasn’t going to get anything from the redhead. She wondered if she could get it out of Draco later. 

…

5 days through training, Theo had felt confident he had sussed out who was competition and which tributes would be no trouble at all. Most of the other purebloods were open to an alliance, minus Draco of course, and he seemed to be the only one worth worrying over. None of the blood traitors had any actually skill, perhaps maybe the she-weasel. However, Theo suspected she would loose her cool once actually in the arena, and turn into a blubbering mess at the first sight of blood. Potter seemed to hold his own, but he doubted the half-blood could kill anyone when the time came. Theo had wondered if maybe Zabini from 7 had potential but the guy had kept mostly to himself and hadn’t revealed any talent major so far. 

And then there was Granger. Unlike Malfoy, Theo would never admit out loud to finding the mudblood attractive. That attraction for her only grew as his hatred did. With each day, she proved to be more and more of a threat. Theo wanted nothing more than to show her she had no chance of winning the Tournament, and in just one more week, he’d be able to. 

He hadn’t decided yet if he wanted to go after her first or wait until there were only a few of them left. With Potter and Malfoy, he knew she could last a while, maybe it’d be down to the four of them. Then, he could kill her slowly and even taunt Malfoy before killing him too. But then again, if he killed her first off, it would just show how stupid she was for showing off during training. 

“Theo, you’re staring again,” a voice behind him almost made him jump. Thankfully, he was in better control of himself. He turned to Astoria who was, as always, smiling sweetly up at him. Ever since they were third years, she’d had a crush on him and he felt the same way. Well, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t feel as strongly for her anymore. Living in different districts meant only seeing each other at school. Theo had graduated this year which meant, unless he’d somehow got relocated to District 1 or her to 2, they would never see each other again. He had the thought that if he became a Victor, then maybe they could both get jobs at the ministry and move to the Capitol after she finished at Hogwarts. 

Now though, he was preparing for her regretful, but inevitable, death. He had loved her at some point, probably, but he couldn’t allow himself to feel that way for her anymore.

“Theo?” He realized he hadn’t responded to her previous statement. 

“I guess I was,” he shrugged and turned to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he placed his hands in her waist. Might as well enjoy her company while she was still alive. 

“I know you can’t wait to teach that Muggle-born her place, but if you keep staring at her that way, I’m fairly certain Draco will just kill you now.”

“You mean he’ll try to kill me, and then he’ll have to go into the arena without his wand.”

“Which would be all too convenient for you.”

“For us,” Theo corrected her with a gentle peck on her nose. “As soon as we’re in the arena, I’ll be able to make sure Malfoy can’t hurt you.” 

“I’m not worried about Malfoy,” Astoria admitted. “He may be top of your class, but he also made it clear to everyone that he’s too much of a coward to kill anyone.” Theo fought the scoff that threatened to escape him. As if Astoria would be able to stomach it either. “No, it’s Granger and Potter that I worry about. I’ve been watching them duel their mentors, and, Theo, they’re good.”

“I know, but it won’t be enough,” Theo assured her. “It takes instinct that neither of them have. Potter will be too busy taking care of Weasley to protect himself. And Granger,” Theo looked over at her and saw her talking to Malfoy. Her hands were on her hips and it was clear she was getting frustrated with him. Theo could practically see Malfoy’s raging hard on for the witch from where he stood. “She and Malfoy will keep each other distracted.” 

…

Draco wanted nothing more than to snog Hermione right now. He could just envision running his fingers through her hair and covering her mouth with his. It would definitely be the best way to shut her up. 

All he wanted was to compliment her on her dueling and perhaps give her a few pointers. 4 minutes later, she was ranting about merlin knows what. 

“-misogynistic pureblood arse-” she continued on clearly not realizing he wasn’t paying attention. She stopped to take a breath, the first since she had started and Draco seized the opportunity. 

“Granger, as much as I love watching your mouth move, unless you plan on doing something a bit more productive with it, could you please stop talking?” She narrowed her eyes at his insinuation and opened her mouth to presumably tell him off. “Stop, please let me talk. I apologize if I insulted you.” She scoffed at his lame apology but didn’t object. “I merely meant to say that I would love to duel you sometime to see if Dora is going easy on you. I’d hate to think she wasn’t training her tribute to the best of her ability.” She stood there a moment debating whether she had a problem with what he said.

“Well, we can’t exactly duel each other here, now can we? And I don’t suppose we’ll have a lot of free time in the arena for such trivial activities.”

“You’d classify practicing with your ally a ‘trivial activity’.” He hadn’t thought about what he was saying, not really. Didn’t even realize what he said until her eyes widened. 

“Ally?” He would’ve laughed the look on her face if he wasn’t too busy kicking himself. 

“I just meant that if we were-allies, that is-that we could practicing our dueling in the arena.” It had sounded smooth in his head but came out unsure, choppy. She smiled a little and Draco knew she found his discomfort amusing. He took a breath and just put it out there. “Alright Granger, you know I want you as my ally, honestly you’re top of my very short list of people I consider bearable. I think I’ve made it more than clear how much I want you, and I-”

“As your ally,” she interrupted.

“What?” 

“How much you want me… as your ally.” 

“Right,” he chuckled. “Anyway, I know you’re worried that Potter and Weasley won’t ally with you if we’re a package deal, but they need you. I may not have whatever information they have, but I promise I am a hell of a lot better at charms than Weasley and I’ll be able to make the hard decisions so that you and Potter won’t have to. What do you think?” He wished he had had time to practice his sales pitch a bit beforehand. However, Hermione didn’t immediately shoot him down. 

She stood there, clearly thinking hard about it. Draco shifted feet uncomfortably and wished she’d think a little faster. Finally, she looked up at him and smiled.

“Alright Malfoy, I accept. I’ve had several people tell me I can’t trust you because you’re a pureblood, but that’s like saying you shouldn’t expect me to be capable of magic because I’m muggle-born. Since you think I’m a worthy choice for an ally, then I will trust you.” Draco felt himself smile against his will. The way she was looking at him make his knees weak, and he cursed himself for acting like this was his first crush. 

“Good choice. I’ll see you tomorrow Granger.”


	7. Training Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took forever to post, I had so much I wanted to cover in this chapter and wasn't entirely sure how to go about all of it. Good news though, this chapter is super long! It's practically twice as long as each of the other chapters. I hope you enjoy!!!

Hermione woke up early on Tuesday morning. She guessed it was around 4, meaning it had been exactly one week since she woke up on Reaping Day. Oh, how her life had changed. Her confidence had grown as Fleur shrunk her teeth and as she progressed through training. She had become assured of her ability to survive the Tournament a lot longer than originally anticipated. The only development she was still unsure about was her growing relationship with Draco Malfoy. She was beyond attracted to him, that was for sure, and she agreed to be his ally meaning she would have to trust him. Easier said than done. Although he hadn’t done anything to discourage her trust so far, she knew better than to think everyone in the tournament was upfront about their intentions.

After lying in bed for as long as possible, Hermione dragged herself to the kitchen where she found muffins, bagels, and other assorted food waiting for her and the other inhabitants of the loft. She grabbed a muffin and made her way to the breakfast counter. John was already there eating a bagel and reading the paper. He glanced up as she sat across from him but made no other acknowledgment of her presence.

“Is that today’s paper?”

He shook his head, “Yesterday’s. It doesn’t arrive until after we’ve left to the training center.”

He continued reading the paper, and they ate in silence. Hermione was grateful they had simultaneously agreed not to be allies but rather to be indifferent towards each other. Being from the same district and attending the same school, John was sure to have known how smart she was, but then he would also know she was bossy, and nosy, and could probably guess that she would have a lot of enemies in the Tournament. He was smart for avoiding being close to a target like her.

When he finished flipping through the paper, he silently slid it across the counter to Hermione. She idly skimmed the front headlines, and unsurprisingly, they were about the upcoming Tournament. The featured article was an analysis of this year’s tributes with comments from their trainers and their progress through training. Hermione read through it quickly, seeing her competitors from the Carrow’s point of view. They were harsh on everyone, save a few of the purebloods. She was relieved there was no mention of her and Draco being friendly, although there was a quote from Amycus that caught her eye.

While Draco Malfoy of District 1 showed great promise as a student at Hogwarts, in the training center, his trainers doubt his potential. ‘Malfoy seems unable to focus on much of anything besides what’s under the skirts of his fellow tributes,’ Amycus Carrow says. Despite being publicly engaged to fellow tribute Astoria Greengrass, Malfoy has been seen in multiple relationships and has gained a reputation as a ladies’ man throughout Hogwarts and District 1. This reputation has apparently followed him to the Capitol and may cost him the Tournament if he’s not careful.

  
Hermione chuckled at how ridiculous that sounded. Sure, Malfoy liked to flirt, but how would that get him killed? As soon as she asked, that the answer hit her like a brick. Sponsors wouldn’t take too kindly to a pureblood being the ally and admirer of a muggle-born. Without the support of sponsors, Malfoy would have to rely on skill and sheer luck in the arena. Skilled as he might be, luck wasn’t very common in the Tournament. Hermione herself had never expected to have the help from sponsors, but she fully intended on doing whatever Tonks recommended to earn their favor.

Hermione continued through the paper disinterested. The non-tournament news was solely about the Capitol and Ministry officials. By the time she finished reading anything she found interesting, it was a quarter to 6; Tonks and McGonagall appeared in the kitchen to urge the tributes to make their way to the fireplace.

“This part of training is arguably the most important,” McGonagall told them. “During the individual study, you’ll have access to all kinds of information from people with experience. I myself will be made available to assist those who wish it.” Hermione wondered who else would be there to offer their knowledge, and if she’d have enough time to learn everything there was to know.

In the training center, Hermione was surprised by how many people were there. The Carrows didn’t bother introducing them all, for there were so many. Instead they merely listed some of their professions and skills worth noting: Hogwarts professors, Aurors, current mentors, Victors, masters of transfiguration, skilled duelists, and potions masters.

“You’ll have the next four days to learn as much as you can from everyone here,” Amycus instructed. “Each person has something that can help you survive the tournament, some information more crucial than other.”

Hermione estimated there were about 30 people to get help from. If she spent an hour with each person, she could get through 10 people a day and still have the last day for extra studying and training. At the mark from the Carrows, everyone began their rounds. Each person had a sort of station set up. For some, there was a table with a demonstration, others had more space and made use of the training dummies to teach defensive spells, a few merely had chairs so tributes could sit with them while they talked. Hermione decided to work her way around the room in a clockwise motion. Others had the same idea, and Hermione slipped into a small group with Neville, Luna, Ginny, and the girl from 11. She wondered if she should walk with Ron and Harry to give them this time to further their alliance. Hermione spotted them wandering around aimlessly, choosing people at random to talk to. Maybe she’d be better off without them.

At the first station, there was a table with a variety of plants. “Well hello there,” a plump woman greeted them. “I am Professor Sprout, and I teach herbology at Hogwarts, and today I will be teaching you how to survive the different types of flora you’ll encounter in the arena.

“You will encounter a variety of plants that are edible, and an even greater amount that are poisonous. It is crucial to be able to spot the difference.” For the next 45 minutes, Professor Sprout taught them as much as she could about the variety of plants they might face in the arena, those edible and those lethal. Hermione had read about most of them but had never actually seen any of them, save a few her professors in District 10 were able to procure for lessons. Neville surprised her with his knowledge; this seemed to be a subject he prided himself on knowing.

“Now, before you five leave me, I have a final question,” Professor Sprout told them. “What is the only form of defense against Devil’s Snare?”

“Sunlight!” Both Hermione and Neville answered simultaneously.

“Very good you two! Miss Weasley, perhaps you recall the little rhyme I taught the class your first year?”

Ginny thought for a moment before answering, “Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare. It’s deadly fun but will sulk in the sun?”

“And don’t forget it. It’s a favorite in the arena, and at least a few of the tributes are sure to encounter it.” Hermione repeated the rhyme over and over in her head determined to remember it.

The group moved on to the next station where they met an Auror teaching offensive spells. Hermione didn’t care much for being an offensive player, but she refused to let anyone have an advantage over her. After an hour, the group moved on.

The day continued on much like this. Station to station, they learned what they could, and moved to the next. After about 5 hours, the girl from 11 left them to go back to an Auror that was teaching charms. Neville, Luna, and Ginny were getting on well together, and Hermione wondered if she should leave them alone to reaffirm an alliance.

The Carrows called for a lunch break, and the tributes made their way to the buffet table made available for them. Ginny and Hermione found a corner to sit together alone, where Hermione asked Ginny if she would rather be alone with Neville and Luna, but Ginny practically begged her to stay.

“If you leave, my brothers will get suspicious of me talking to them, and I can’t let them know what I’m planning.”

“You mean they still think you’re staying with Ron in the arena?” Hermione didn’t think she was good at lying, and now she would be forced to keep this secret from her ally. She suspected Harry wouldn’t hesitate to tell Ron if he found out either, so she’d have to keep it from him too.

“Just for now. Once we’re in the arena, I’ll tell Ron not to worry about me and go on my own.”

“And you don’t think he’ll argue that you’re insane and try to follow you?”

“He can try.” Hermione couldn’t help but compare the smirk on the redhead’s face to the one Malfoy frequently sported. At the thought of her pureblood ally, Hermione looked around for him. He was a on the other side of the room eating with Tonks. He had been a few stations in front of her before lunch; Hermione thought hard to remember if he had been that close to her all day.

“Just noticed, have you?” Ginny chuckled.

“Noticed what?”

“He’s been staying at stations a long time so we’ll catch up to him,” Ginny said this as though it was obvious, and Hermione realized it probably was. As observant as she claimed to be in school, she seemed to be a bit oblivious when it came to Draco. As though reading her thoughts, Ginny said, “Don’t worry, you should be paying more attention to training anyway. I’m sure Malfoy will make time for you in the arena, once you two aren’t under the watchful eye of the Capitol.”

Hermione had been blushing a lot since stepping out of the fireplace on Reaping Day. Either from being inspected by Fleur or charmed by Draco, her face had been almost constantly scarlet. However, she was sure her face went up in flames now as she caught Ginny’s drift. Malfoy hadn’t hesitated to flirt with her every chance he got, regardless of who was around. Once in the arena, would he want to show her just how attracted to her he was? Yes, Hermione decided, Malfoy had spent the last week making it more than abundantly clear he wanted her.

“My gods, Hermione” Ginny exclaimed in a shocked whisper. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

“Merlin, Ginny. Say that like it’s a bad thing. I’ve never been in a serious relationship, and I wasn’t raised a floozy.” Hermione couldn’t believe she was having to defend her maidenhood to a fifteen-year-old.

“Going all the way with a guy, or two, doesn’t make you a floozy, Hermione. It means you’re in charge of your body.” Ginny had clearly had this same talk before, and Hermione contemplated how many guys she had slept with. “Besides, you have a 21 out of 22 probability of dying in a few weeks anyway, don’t you want to have some fun first?”

“And that fun is supposed to be with Malfoy?”

“Who else? He’s easily the hottest guy here with a few close seconds, and he wants you bad. Please tell me you’ve at least kissed a guy before.”

“I said I’m not a floozy Gin, not that I was a prude! I’ve kissed a couple guys,” Hermione sniffed.

“Then I’m just saying, if you’re going to lose it to any guy, and it may be the only time you get to do the deed, it should be with someone who knows what he’s doing.”

“And who would be the close seconds?” Hermione was eager to change the subject.

“What?”

“You said Draco is the hottest with a few close seconds. I’m just wondering who they would be?”

“Oh, um well, I don’t,” Ginny stuttered over her words, and Hermione looked at her quizzically. For someone who spoke so casually about sex, Ginny seemed to be suddenly shy merely over the subject of attractive wizards. Clearly, somebody had flummoxed Ginny, and Hermione yearned to find out who.

“Wow, Ginny I didn’t know you could get so tongue-tied. Who’s the guy?”

“There’s no guy,” Ginny lied poorly. At Hermione’s pointed look, she sighed. “OK fine, there’s a guy. But I’m not telling you who, so don’t even bother asking!” Hermione chuckled but conceded. She would find out later, she was sure of it.

…

After lunch, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna continued through the stations. Rather than think of her own future in the arena, Hermione distracted herself with assisting Ginny secure an alliance.

“So, Neville, have you and Luna thought about including anyone in your alliance?” Hermione asked, trying to be tactful.

“Uh, a couple people I guess. You and Ginny are the only people that really take the time to talk to us, so that doesn’t leave much for options. Harry and Ron do too, I guess, but they seem like they’ve got their own thing going for them, you know?”

“Yeah, I do,” Hermione admitted. It wasn’t easy to get them to consider accepting her. “Why haven’t other people been talking to you?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Luna answered with a question of her own. “People think I’m strange and Neville is bad at magic.” Even after spending the day with her, Hermione was still caught off-guard by Luna’s bluntness.

“You’re not strange, Luna,” Ginny assured her.

“You don’t have to lie because you want us to be your allies; I know I’m not like other people.” Hermione laughed at seeing Ginny embarrassed by Luna’s honesty. Clearly, she hadn’t expected the unusual witch to figure out her intentions.

“I wasn’t trying to trick you, Luna. I really don’t think you’re strange,” Ginny said sincerely. “And I would really like for you two to consider me as an ally.”

“Are you kidding, Ginny?” Neville inquired. “Why on Earth wouldn’t we want you? You’re an amazing duelist; we don’t stand a chance without you.”

“Really? You seriously want me as your ally?” Ginny’s astonishment reminded Hermione of her conversation with Draco the day before. She hadn’t meant to hold him in suspense over her answer, but it was a big decision, choosing allies. She wondered if maybe she should be spending the individual study with him, or if he would rather wait until they were in the arena and out of the ‘watchful eye of the Capitol’ as Ginny put it. She should probably ask him, but she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him after her enlightening conversation with Ginny. He seemed able to read her mind at times and she would surely die of humiliation if he knew she had spent half the day considering sex with him.

Instead, Hermione stayed with Ginny and her new allies for the remainder of the day. As predicted, Hermione was able to meet with 10 of the trainers in the first day. She ended the day exhausted mentally, eager to go to bed.

“Good day, huh Hermione?” Tonks asked her as they finished up dinner. John had already retired for the night and McGonagall was talking to someone in the fireplace in the other room.

“Oh yeah, I learned a lot.”

“You spent the whole day with the tributes from 6 and the youngest Weasely. Is there anything going on there?”

“Not really an alliance no, but definitely an agreement,” Hermione answered.

“That’s good. Contrary to popular belief, you can have too many allies. You should probably head to bed; it’s been a long day.” Hermione agreed and retired for the night.

Once she had left the room, Tonks went in search of McGonagall. She was still in the living room, sitting on the floor and talking to the fireplace.

“I understand that, Albus, but she must be prepared.”

“It would not do to overwhelm the girl,” the fireplace responded.

“Overwhelmed? I think she’s more than a little overwhelmed as it is. Telling her that she’s not alone in this might ease her a little bit.”

“I’m sorry, Minerva, but I must insist on secrecy, at least for now.”

“Very well, Albus. I won’t tell her yet.” Tonks waited off to the side as the discussion came to a close. Once the fireplace was empty, McGonagall stood and turned towards her.

“He doesn’t mean for us to continue lying to her, does he?”

“I’m afraid so,” McGonagall answered her. “We must trust he knows best, for he is the one with the plan after all.”

“It’d be easier to trust him and his plan, if we actually knew what the plan was,” Tonks argued.

“And we will, in time.”

…

“C’mon Harry, any other table than his, please.”

“Why not his?”

“If you talk to him, you’d know, but since we’re not going to his table, you don’t have to talk to him.”

Harry looked at Ron dubiously. They had been choosing tables at random, as they had the day before, and Ron hadn’t had any objection to anyone so far. Until now, of course.

“Ron, I don’t know who that is, but he’s got potions and such set up on his table, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve always been lousy at potions.”

“Me too, Harry, which is why we’re steering clear of him.” Harry looked again to the greasy haired man with the hooked nose. He was looking down at everyone with a condescending look, and Harry began to understand what Ron meant.

“Maybe we’ll pass for now, but I still think we should check it out later. Until then, how about we go see the guy with the weird eye?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” On their way over to the terrifying Victor, they were stopped by Hermione.

“Mind if I tag along with you two today?” She seemed hesitant to ask.

“We thought you were working around the room, going to each and every table?” Ron asked.

“I was, but they aren’t in the same order as they were yesterday, so I have to skip around to get to the people I missed yesterday, and I figured if I’m going to do that, I might as well do it with you two.”

“Wow, Hermione. That’s so thoughtful,” Harry said in mock sincerity. “I’m so glad you thought to spend the day with your allies, as an afterthought of course.”

“Oh, shut up, Harry. I can’t help it if you two have no sense of strategy,” Hermione sniffed in offense.

“We’ve got strategy,” Ron argued. “Plenty of it.” Harry almost hit him. Of course, they had a strategy, but part of it was to not tell anyone what it was.

“We’ll see about that.” Harry was glad Hermione didn’t pry for details. “Anyway, who were you two going to see next?”

“The guy with the fake eye,” Ron gestured to an older man, sitting in a chair by himself. Obviously, everyone else was too afraid to approach him.

“I’ve read about him!” Hermione exclaimed. “That’s Alastor Moody, but most people call him ‘Mad-Eye’. He won ages ago but lost his eye, a leg, and a part of his nose in the process.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “and I’ve heard he’s become insanely paranoid.”

“Well wouldn’t you be after an experience like that?” Ron asked.

“Not all of the Victors become paranoid recluses,” Hermione pointed out. “Most of them turn out quite the opposite: glorified celebrities in the Capitol.”

Harry tried to ignore their bickering, hoping it wouldn’t be something they would do in the arena. He approached the man, not bothering to look to see if his friends were following him.

“Hello, I’m Harry-”

“Potter!” The man barked at him making Harry jump. “Yes, you look just like your father. He’s around here somewhere isn’t he?” Harry stared in amazement as the fake eye began to spin wildly before settling on a spot across the room. The real eye stayed fixed on Harry as Mad-Eye answered his own question, “Ah, yes there he is.”

“Er-”

“Well don’t just stand there boy, take a seat.” Harry sat down in the chair across from the man. “So, you’re unwillingly following in your father’s footsteps. But will you make the same choices he did?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well I’m sure he’s told you who his allies were in the Tournament? A muggle-born and some half-bloods?” Harry nodded. “And when the time came to abandon alliances, what did your father do?” Harry thought for a moment. His dad was never one to go into detail about his experience in the arena. Obviously, his dad won, so he would’ve killed some people, but did he kill his allies? Seeing the confusion and concern on his face, Mad-Eye answered, “He parted with his allies in peace. They were killed off by the other purebloods until it was James against two of them. The details are a bit fuzzy on the how, but James came out the Victor. He’s one of the few Victors that can boast about not losing themselves in that arena.”

“Do you think I could do it too? Not lose myself in there?”

“If you’re even half the man your father is, then yes. But something tells me, you don’t intend on losing anyone else in there either.” He gave Harry a peculiar look, almost as though he was looking inside of him, and Harry felt as though Mad-Eye could see his every thought and intention. “You can’t save everyone Potter, but you can save yourself. You owe your parents that much.” Harry sat in contemplation for a moment. He knew Mad-Eye had a point, but he also had the information his father gave him. Maybe he couldn’t save everyone, but he knew he could save some of them. After a moment of silence, Harry stood up to leave. Mad-Eye grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Oh, and Potter, don’t trust anyone. Not even your allies, and especially not you’re the people your allies trust.”

Harry left Mad-Eye unsure what to do with what he had told him and went in search of Ron and Hermione. They were still bickering but this time they had an audience. A tall willowy woman adorned in beads and her glasses magnified her eyes so they almost appeared bug-like was standing with them.

“I’m just saying Ron, it doesn’t take a genius, and certainly not a psychic, to predict that someone in this room is going to die. I can promise you that within a few weeks, 21 of us will be dead, because that’s how the Tournament works.”

“You’re just mad because she said you don’t possess the sight.”

“If by ‘sight’ you mean inability to distinguish between a psychic prediction and an obvious conclusion, then no Ronald, I guess I don’t have the sight.”

“Harry,” Ron spotted him coming near them, “This is Professor Trewlaney. She teaches Divination at Hogwarts. She thinks I’m going to die in the arena.”

“What I said, dear boy,” the professor spoke in an ethereal voice, “was that I feared you were in great danger.”

“We’re all in danger! We’re tributes in the Tournament that starts in less than a week.”

“Hermione has a point, Ron.” Hermione made an ‘I-told-you-so’ face, and Harry nearly snorted at how immature her and Ron were being.

“Well fine then, let’s see what she has to say about you, Harry.” Ron pushed him towards the woman, and Harry suddenly felt uneasy as she began looking him up and down. She muttered to herself as she circled around him, making comments about his aura as she went. She picked up his hand and sighed mournfully.

“Your life line is very short my dear boy. I hate to say it, but I fear you may be in danger as well. You probably should avoid any sort of confrontation for the next month at least, for I foresee you dying in battle.”

“That’s a bummer mate,” Ron said consolingly, though there was humor in his eyes. “Guess you’ll have to skip the Tournament this year.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I was really looking forward to it, too.” Even Hermione cracked a smile at that, and the three of them walked away from the eccentric lady.

“So, what did Mad-Eye teach you, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Nothing really. He just told me that I can save everyone and that I shouldn’t trust anyone.”

“What about me?” Ron asked.

“Yeah Ron, even you.”

“Wow, he really did lose it in the Tournament.”

“Who should we go see next?” Hermione asked, clearly trying to get them to stay focused on the task.

“Oh, I know!” Ron exclaimed. “We should go see Hagrid, you’ll love him, Harry. He’s the groundskeeper at Hogwarts, and he’s half giant!”

“Shouldn’t he live in District 11 then?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, but he’s the only person brave enough to go into the Forbidden Forest, so they let him live on the grounds year-round. He’s not allowed magic though. So, he has to go in there with nothing but a crossbow.” Harry had heard all about the Forest from his father, and he decided anyone brave enough to go in there with just a crossbow was sure to have useful information. They found him in a corner talking to a group of the younger tributes.

“Now there hasn’t been a dragon in the arena in years, so I don’t expect there’ll be one this year,” he assured them. When he saw the three of them, he stood up so fast he knocked his chair over.

“Blimey, Ron Weasley is that you?” He hugged Ron before turning to Harry and Hermione.

“Hagrid this is Harry Potter and Hermione Granger,” Ron introduced them.

“Yeh’ll be James an’ Lily’s son of course,” Hagrid greeted him.

“You know my parents?” It seemed like everybody knew Harry’s parents.

“Never had the pleasure of meeting your mom, but I knew your dad when he went ter Hogwarts. Good kid, good wizard.” He turned to Hermione. “You must be the muggle-born I keep hearing about, the one that’s got all the trainers stumped. They ain’t never seen a witch as smart as yeh.” Hermione blushed, but Harry knew she couldn’t deny it. “Word of advice,” he leaned towards her and dropped his voice. “If they start asking how yeh’re so good, an’ they’re goin’ ter, make sure yeh tell them yeh learned it on your own. If they think the professors in 10 are teachin’ more magic ‘n they should, they’ll get in ter trouble.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Hermione admitted. “I did learn it mostly on my own, although the professors always answered questions and let me stay late to practice. I won’t tell anyone that though.”

“Good,” Hagrid said. “Now, if yeh three have any questions about any magical creature, I’m the one ter ask.” The next hour was spent learning all about magical creatures, most of which Harry was too embarrassed to admit he had never even heard of, although Ron seemed to be as clueless as he was. A few times, Hagrid would stop what he was saying and just star crying; Ron had explained that was just something Hagrid did. The groundskeeper was clearly upset over the Tournament and did a poor job at handling it. Eventually, they bid the half-giant goodbye, each of them being hugged in turn.

The rest of the day, they followed Hermione around to each station as she preferred. She made a point to stay at each table longer than they would’ve, but Harry knew it would be good for them to spend this time together before entering the arena. By the end of the day, Harry and Ron had actually learned some things that otherwise wouldn’t have happened without Hermione.

Back at the loft that night, Harry stayed after dinner with his dad. Once Lavender and their escort had gone to bed, Harry asked his dad what had been bothering him all day.

“Hey dad?”

“What’s on your mind Harry?”

“I was just wondering about your Tournament, and your allies?”

“What about them?”

“Well, when you decided to part ways, towards the end, how did you know they weren’t going to kill you next time they saw you, or even right there? How were you able to trust them?”

“I didn’t Harry. I had no idea whether they were going to walk away, just like they didn’t know if I was. I just hoped that an alliance like that wasn’t going to break so easily.” Harry nodded in contemplation. “Are you worried Harry, about Ron? Or Hermione? Because you know if all goes to plan you won’t have to worry about any of that.”

“No, I know. I’m not worried about Ron, and Hermione doesn’t seem like the kind of person to do that either, but she doesn’t know the plan yet, and if her alliance with Malfoy takes precedence…” He trailed off, now imagining everything that could go wrong. If Hermione worried they might abandon her, she may leave early, then Malfoy probably wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate them as a threat.

“Well, then I guess your only option is to come to an agreement with Malfoy. I wouldn’t suggest an alliance, necessarily, but come to terms with him that you both need Hermione, and you’re not willing to break her trust by fighting him.” Harry like that idea. This way, he could fortify his alliance with Hermione without damaging the one with Ron.

…

“I’ve been in contact with your father, Draco. I just thought you might want to know.” Draco wasn’t surprised to hear this; his potions master was close to his family. The half-blood had won the Tournament when he was 17 and quickly took advantage of being a Victor. Now given the privileges of a pureblood, Severus Snape studied to become a Hogwarts Professor, and through that, he met Draco’s father. The pair hit it off immediately, constantly sharing their ideas of a better world. Banning relations with muggles altogether, not allowing muggle-borns to participate in the Tournament, instead classifying them as muggles, were just a few of their ideas.

“And what does my Father have to say?” Draco didn’t have to feign indifference, he honestly didn’t care at this point what his father thought of him or his life choice.

“He wanted to know who your allies were and how you were getting on in training. He didn’t appreciate that comment Amycus gave the Prophet about your relations.”

“And did you tell him who my allies are?” Draco challenged him already knowing the answer.

“Of course not. You think I want Lucius to die of shame? No, he’ll find out eventually, but not through me. I told him you were keeping to yourself, and he assumed that meant you were ashamed of how you behave before the Reaping. I didn’t bother correcting him.”

“And what happens when he finds out my only ally so far is a muggle-born?”

“Well if you’re still alive by then, I’m sure he’ll kill you himself. If you’re already dead, you’ll probably be erased from family history.”

“Good, I’m a bit over being a Malfoy anyway.”

“I’m afraid that’s the only name you’ve got.”

“I’ve got my mother’s,” Draco pointed out.

“Black? They’ll have crossed you out as well.”

“Then I guess I’ll be just another fallen tribute,” Draco looked across the room to where Hermione stood with Potter and Weasley. “I’m sure somebody will remember me.”

“I’ll remember you, of course. You were always my favorite student, Draco. Top marks every year, you could have followed in my steps you know.”

“If I were to be a professor, Snape, you know I’d choose Defense against the Dark Arts.”

“Riddle would have to retire first, and I don’t see that happening anytime soon.” Before Draco could respond, he saw Potter approaching them. This’ll be interesting, Draco thought.

“Snape, I’d like to introduce Harry Potter of District 6. Potter, this is Professor Snape of Hogwarts.” Harry extended his hand towards the professor, and Draco almost snorted as Snape blatantly ignored it.

“Potter, is it? Are you as arrogant as your father?” Snape asked with a sneer.

“You know my father?”

“We had the misfortune of being neighbors for a brief time. I’ll never understand why someone as intelligent as your mother would settle for someone like your father.” Draco wondered at the jealous tone he heard in Snape’s voice. Was that where his hatred of muggle-borns came from? Being rejected by Potter’s mom?

“Er, anyway, Malfoy, can I talk to you?”

“Sure, Potter.” Draco left Snape and the two of them found a mostly secluded corner to talk. “What’s this about?”

“Hermione and our respective alliances with her,” Potter answered.

“Finally did the math huh? Hermione can’t stay allied to both of us if we’re trying to kill each other.”

“Which is why I’m proposing we don’t try to kill each other. I need Hermione, a lot more than you do if I’m being honest. But I’m willing to share if you want her that badly.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think Granger is into threesomes, so I don’t think sharing will be necessary.” The look on Potter’s face was priceless.

“That’s not what I meant! I meant sharing her brain, not her body.”

“Relax, Potter I won’t tell Granger you tried to bargain her off in exchange for your safety.” Malfoy wondered if Potter and Weasley knew that Hermione need something from them. Probably not, or else this conversation would go something along the lines of, ‘we won’t give her what she needs unless you back off’. That means Draco could use that to his advantage. “Tell you what Potter, I won’t touch you or your pet weasel, but Granger and I are a package deal. As long as you need her, you need me too.” There, that would mean he’d have a better chance at finding out whatever it is Potter knows, and he’d be able to be close to Hermione also.

Potter thought for a moment before, with a sigh, he stuck out his hand. “Alright, you got a deal. You don’t go after me, Ron, or Ginny, or anyone else we ally with, and you can tag along I guess.”

“Just how many allies do you plan on having?” Draco hesitated sealing the deal until he knew the extent of his limitations.

Harry shrugged. “So far it’s just us, but Ginny and Hermione were training with Neville and Luna the other day, so they might be included too.” Draco decided he’d talk to Hermione about that, but for now, no harm in agreeing to his terms. He took Potter’s hand, and they shook on it.

…

Hermione was walking down the buffet table when Draco found her. He remembered seeing her that first day, doing a similar thing, and Draco was glad he took the chance to talk to her. He felt foolish for caring about something as trivial as her blood status.

He crept up behind her knowing she would be as enthralled in the food as she was with training. Once Hermione had her attention on something, nothing else seemed to distract her. Taking advantage of that he stood right behind her and bent his mouth to her ear.

“Hermione,” his voice was barely above a whisper, a mere murmur, but it still made her jump. She almost dropped her plate, and Draco reached around her to steady her hands. She was now enveloped in his arms, and Draco almost groaned at how perfectly she fit against him. His mouth was still near her ear and he took advantage of that.

“Jumpy, are you?” She shivered against him as his breath hit her, and Draco felt all his blood rush to his groin. He slid his hands up her arms, over her shoulders, and down her waist.

“Draco,” her voice held a warning, but Draco detected a hint of longing in there too. He sighed and released her. She turned towards him and her cheeks were faintly pink. She had given up on taking care of her hair every day, so it was loose and free, and Draco yearned to tangle his hands in it. “Was there something you wanted?”

“Yes.” He continued admiring her, taking in her gentle curves and imagining what they would feel like under his hands.

“What do you want?” She was obviously getting impatient and began to fidget under his gaze. He sighed and met her eyes.

“I thought it’d be obvious by now.”

“No, I meant, was there something you wanted to talk to me about, like right now?” Despite being obviously embarrassed by his crude implication, Hermione kept a clear head.

“I was just wondering how many allies you were planning on collecting? Potter tells me he thinks you’re considering the two from 6.”

“Neville and Luna? No, not really. They’re nice but as Tonks said, you can have too many allies. So, I’m settling for you, Harry, Ron, and Ginny.”

“You’re settling for me huh?” he asked in mock offence.

“You know what I mean. There isn’t anyone else here that actually wants me as an ally. And honestly, you’re probably the best I can get.”

“I was thinking the same about you,” Draco admitted.

“So, what were you and Harry talking about?”

“You,” he answered simply.

“Me?”

“He was trying to convince to engage in a ménage à trois with you.”

“A ménage à trois?” She squeaked. He laughed at how gullible she was.

“No, he just wanted to make sure him and I were on the same page about a couple things.”

“And are you?”

“Yeah, we decided it would be in our best interests to treat each other as allies, for the time being.”

“And when that time is over?” Draco could tell she was really worried about that part of the Tournament.

“We don’t have to worry about that yet,” he assured her. “For now, the only thing you should worry about is making sure you’re ready for that arena. Have you talked to everyone yet?”

“Almost. I have a few people left,” she answered.

“Well let’s get to it then. Are you done eating?” She had been munching on her plate of food while they talked. Nodding in response to his question, she dumped her plate in the trash and followed him back towards the stations. They circled around until they found someone neither of them had talked to yet. He was sitting in a chair and had a couple empty chairs in front of him. He was in his late thirties, pale, and freckled with straw colored hair. When they approached, he stood and stuck out his hand.

“Barty Crouch Jr. Victor of the 66th Wizard’s Tournament.”

“Draco Malfoy, District 1, and Hermione Granger, District 10.” Draco introduced them, they each shook his hand, and he gestured for them to sit.

“So, Malfoy is it? Lucius’s son?” Draco nodded and almost jumped with Crouch let out a bark.

“He’s probably not too fond of you hanging out with a mudblood, eh?”

“No, I imagine not.” Draco had grown sick of having this conversation with everyone he talked to.

“Good.” His response surprised Draco. “I never did what my father wanted, and look where it got me! My father got a job in the Capitol to protect me from the Tournament; I insisted on living with my mother in District 2 just so I could volunteer. Father wanted me to ally with the other purebloods; I went into the arena completely alone with no alliances. After I was crowned Victor, father urged me to seek a job in the ministry; I decided to become an Auror for District 11. And just this morning he reminded me about the unbreakable vow every Victor, escort, and Gamemaker makes.”

“An Unbreakable Vow?” Hermione asked, obviously astonished. Crouch leaned towards her conspiratorially, and Hermione reciprocated the motion eagerly causing Draco an irrational flash of jealousy for the man.

“Do you want to hear the biggest secret of the Capitol? Of the entire country?” He whispered so softly Draco had no choice but to lean forwards just as Hermione had.

“But if it’s an Unbreakable Vow, how could you tell us?”

“Well, my dear, my father had made it perfectly clear I was to make the Vow before I could see any reporters or answer any questions. So, naturally…”

“You didn’t make the Vow?”

“I see why Malfoy chose you as an ally, dear; you’re a very bright. No, I confunded the Head Gamemaker, and am now the only person in the world able to discuss,” Crouch’s voice dropped even lower, and he brought his mouth so near her ear, Draco almost thought swore his lips brushed her cheek. He forced himself to reign in his temper in order to hear the softly spoken words, “the arena.”

“The arena!?” Hermione choked out in a shocked whisper.

Draco had grown tired of the theatrics. He cleared his throat, and Crouch pulled away from Hermione. “Color me confused, but I don’t see why there’s so much fuss about the arena.”

“Think about it Malfoy,” Hermione replied impatiently. “Everything about the Tournament is advertised in the Daily Prophet, the interviews are even broadcasted live using muggle television. We know everything about the Tournament, except the arena.”

“The Gamemakers hope to avoid any advantage tributes might have over each other if they know what they’ll face in the arena,” Crouch explained.

“Heaven forbid tributes be at a disadvantage,” Hermione scoffed. “Even without knowing beforehand, surely once in the arena, Tributes already have advantages over each other.”

“While that is true,” Crouch agreed, “the true advantage would be to know about the arena well in advance and have the time to learn everything one can.”

“So, what can you tell us?” Draco asked.

“I won’t be telling you anything. You have enough of an advantage being a pureblood—a Malfoy and a Black to boot.” He turned back to Hermione who was still leaning forwards. “You on the other hand could use all the help you can get.” He brought his lips to her ear again; lifting his hand, he shielded his mouth from Draco’s view and said something that made Hermione inhale deeply. He lowered his hand and flashed a smile at Draco before pulling back from Hermione enough to look at her.

“Surprising, isn’t it?”

“That’s downright genius!” She exclaimed. Draco had decided from the beginning his new favorite thing in the world was watching Hermione learn something new. Clearly, Crouch was enjoying it as well.

“Yes, you are my dear,” the Victor responded charmingly. “Now this is important.” He grabbed Hermione’s hands in his own, and her eyes focused on his. Draco imagined this was the face she gave her professors when they were reviewing for an exam. “You can’t tell anyone that you know this, and especially that I told you. If they find out you know, they won’t give you your wand once you’re in there, and if they find out I told you, well I don’t think I’d fancy prison all that much.” Hermione and Crouch laughed at his dumb joke; the Capitol didn’t waste time or resources on prison, either you were sent to District 11 or you were executed. Draco was officially done talking to this man and watching him flirt with Hermione, whose hands he saw were still being held by Crouch, but he had a question.

“And how do we know you haven’t been telling this to everyone else who’s come to talk to you?”

“Like I said, I don’t fancy prison, and I’m not about to risk my neck for just anyone.” For only the third time in this conversation, Crouch actually looked at Draco.

“Then why me?” Hermione asked. Crouch turned back to Hermione, his face was still mere centimeters from hers.

“Because you, my dear, are smarter than everyone in this room, and with the right help, you can win the Tournament.”

“But why would you want me, a muggle-born, to win the Tournament?”

“Same reason he does, I suspect,” he nodded towards Draco. “My father would never want a muggle-born crowned Victor.”

…

After they had left Crouch, Hermione had been so lost in thought, Draco decided it might be best to leave her to reflect on her own. The third day of individual training was almost over, and Draco would have enough time to talk to one last person. He had dreaded talking to this person, though he knew it was the most crucial. He found him standing, thankfully alone, on the far side on the training center.

“Excuse me, Mr. Potter?” He turned to Draco obviously surprised.

“Please call me James. And you’re Draco Malfoy.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Yes, I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“About?”

“Your wife?”

“My wife?” Whatever James thought he was going to ask, it wasn’t that. “Well ok then. Have a seat, and we can talk.” He flicked his wand, and a couple chairs scooted towards them. Draco sat awkwardly, unsure how to begin. He decided to just start.

“You’re originally from District 2, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“How did you meet her? She would’ve lived in 10, right?”

“She did. The first time I saw her was while I was on my Victory Tour. I had allied with the female tribute from that District, and Lily had been her closest friend. In my speech I had apologized to her friends and family for not staying with her longer-she had been killed mere moments after we decided to disband our alliance. After my speech, Lily had snuck into the building I was staying for the night, before moving onto the next District. I’ll never forget our first encounter,” he said fondly. “She slapped me. Hard. And accused me of claiming to be a hero. It wouldn’t have mattered, she argued, if I stayed with her or not. In the end, one of us would’ve died, and unless I was willing to die so her friend could live, I had no right claiming to be a hero. I argued that I would’ve gladly died in her place, but we both knew that wasn’t true. No matter what we say beforehand, nobody dies easily.

“After I left, I began writing to her. I had resources now, as a Victor, and I readily took advantage. At first, she ignored me, but eventually she started writing back. A few years later I had mentored a Victor and went on the Victory Tour with them. When we got to District 10, she was waiting for me. Through our letters, we had fallen in love, and I proposed to her then. She said yes, but didn’t think I was being serious about the whole thing. It wasn’t until after I petitioned the Ministry to let me move, that she realized I had every intention of being with her for the rest of my life.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

“No,” he shook his head, “I regret that Sirius was punished for it, and I regret that Harry may be at a disadvantage, but I don’t ever regret loving her.” Draco sat there silently, thinking over the story. James’s experience was vastly different than his own. James had had years to fall in love with his wife, to decide what to do and think it over. Draco would only have a few short weeks with Hermione, hardly enough time to truly cherish her.

“May I ask why you’re so curious?” Draco had thought it was pretty obvious, but maybe James knew and wanted Draco to admit it.

“Hermione is the first muggle-born I had ever met. I’ve dated a lot of purebloods, some relationships more serious than others, but I’ve never been in love; being engaged to Astoria, I had accepted I would never get the chance to be in love. But when I saw Hermione walk down those steps, when I saw her face light up as she learned new spells, when I see her now,” his eyes tracked her across the room talking to Dora.

“I feel like I could love her, given enough time,” Draco admitted. “I don’t even care that she’s a muggle-born. If anything, that just makes me want to love her even more. She spent her entire life being told she wasn’t good enough to be a witch, to go to Hogwarts, and here she is proving everyone, proving me, wrong.”

James stared at him thoughtfully, and after a while Draco began to regret his confession; he didn’t know this man, had no connection to him other than the semi-alliance Draco had with his son, but now James knew just how deeply he felt for Hermione. At long last, James smiled and chuckled.

“Well, I’ve never been good with words, sure I can charm the ladies, and I’m quick with my tongue in a fight, but I’ve never been good at being open with my feelings. Here’s my advice: you go in that arena with Hermione, and you two look after each other, enjoy what time you have left, but above all else, make sure she knows how you feel.”

“What if she doesn’t believe me? Or what if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“Tell her what you told me, and she’ll believe you. And it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t feel the same; this isn’t exactly the ideal conditions to develop feelings for someone, so she probably hasn’t thought too much about it.”

Draco thought it over and decided talking to James was a good idea. He felt relieved to be able to talk openly about his feelings for Hermione. He hadn’t truly figured out what to do yet, but at least he could think over the advice given to him.

As he left the training center for the day, he looked at Hermione one last time. Her brow had been furrowed ever since their talk with Crouch, and Draco could tell she was still thinking over whatever the big secret was. He wanted to love her so badly. He wanted to have the time to learn about her childhood, her favorite foods, what books she’s read, which one’s she hasn’t. He wanted to study every inch of her body, mesmerize the color of her eyes, and map her freckles. He wanted to fight with her and then kiss her until she forgave him. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but he wanted that to last more than the few short weeks they were given.

...

Once the other tributes decided they were done for the night, Harry and his father returned to the loft with Lavender who excused herself.

"So Harry, did you and Malfoy come to an agreement?"

"We did," Harry answered. "It'll need some work, but for now it'll have to do."

"That's good. I'm really proud of you son, you're working really hard, and it'll be worth it. Are you ready for your exam tomorrow?"

"I think so."

"Let me know if you have any questions."

“Well actually, I was wondering what you know about a guy named Snape? He said you were neighbors for a little bit?”

“Ah yes, Severus. He lived in 6 when I moved there with your mother. We lived down the street from him for about a year until he moved to the Capitol. Why do you ask?”

“I met him today; he’s not a very nice person, is he?”

“No, not really,” James chuckled. “It’s a wonder he became a teacher, he seems like the type to hate children.”

“Was he, I mean, did you ever suspect he fancied mom?” Harry couldn’t ignore the jealousy in Snape’s voice when talking about his parents’ marriage.

“I did suspect that, Harry, but your mom always claimed he was just being nice to her; I didn’t like the fact that he was only nice to her. If you’re going to be an arse to everyone, you better damn well be an arse to my wife too.” Harry chuckled at his father and wondered what his mom would say to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think???? Any guesses as to what the arena is?? Let me know what your thoughts are, I'd love to hear them.
> 
> Edit: I was skimming through this to reference something in the chapter I'm working on now and realized I had Harry talk to James about Snape before he even met him. Woops! But it's fixed now and hopefully it will make more sense. Sorry about the confusion.


	8. The Exams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Training finally over, the tributes take the most important exam of their life. Receive a poor score and you've no chance of getting any sponsors. Hermione studies hard all the while doing her best to keep the secret Barty Crouch jr entrusted her with. But will knowing the secret about the arena be enough?

Draco emerged from the fireplace at 6:55 as instructed. His aunt followed behind him and roughly shoved him forward. They were in a room similar to the training center, only smaller. There was a desk at the head of the room, training dummies lined the opposite wall, various props were clustered in a corner, and in the center of the room stood a small group of people. 

“Draco Malfoy! Right on time.” One man stepped forward, and Draco recognized him as Ludo Bagman who was hosting the Tournament this year.

“Mister Bagman,” Draco shook his hand, doing his best to be polite to the man who would narrate his death. 

“Please, call me Ludo. You of course know the Carrows, and this is Barty Crouch Sr., Head Gamemaker, and his associates.” He gestured to the nameless men holding clipboards. “Today, you will be tested on your overall ability to survive the Tournament. The Carrows and I will combine our ratings and determine your score.

“There will be two parts to your exam: a written portion in which you’ll answer a series of questions and a practical session where you’ll perform a variety of spells. You’ll have thirty minutes to complete both parts, so divide your time wisely. You can answer as many questions on the exam as you see fit, and we have a surplus of spells for you to perform. The more questions you answer and spells you complete, the higher score you are likely to get.”

“Do you have any questions?” Barty Crouch Sr. asked, and Draco answered that he did not. “Very well, then let’s begin.” Draco approached the desk as instructed. On the desk, there lay a roll of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a few quills. Alecto gestured to an hourglass Draco had not seen upon his first inspection. 

“Time starts…” Alecto flicked her wand, and the hourglass flipped over, “Now.”

…

Harry skimmed through the questions, and cursed himself for laughing at Hermione for taking notes throughout training. He had no idea about any of these. 

‘What is the difference between an inferius and a ghost? Furthermore, how does one defend themselves against an inferius?’

‘What would you get if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?’ 

‘What is the difference between an Animagus and a werewolf?’

He was relieved to see he knew the answer to one questions at least, but Harry had no idea why any of this information would be useful in the arena. Unless they would be facing werewolves and an army of inferi, all the while being yelled at by a potion master who had a thing for his mom. The thought made him chuckle which drew strange looks from the Carrows who were standing next to him to ensure he wasn’t cheating. He glanced at a few more questions and answered what he could. Some he made a random guess and hoped it was enough to at least earn partial credit. Finally, he accepted he had done the best he could and rolled up the parchment. 

“Finished already?” Amycus chuckled. “Very well.” He handed Harry his wand, and Harry followed the Carrows to the other side of the room.

“Which spell should we start with?” Alecto mused. “A summoning charm?” 

Harry took a breath, Hermione had helped him learn this one, but he still doubted himself. He looked at the available props and focused on the pillows he and Hermione practiced with. 

“Accio pillow,” and miraculously, the pillow flew across the room, and Harry caught it triumphantly. With renewed confidence, he turned to the Carrows ready for the next spell. 

…  
Ron sat by the fireplace in the loft waiting anxiously for Ginny. It was almost 1, and Ron thought she should be back by then. He had done awful in his exam and hoped desperately she had done better. There had only been a few questions he had actually know, and he hadn’t done much better with the spell portion. He managed the levitation spell, but being proud of himself only caused the Carrows to laugh at him. After that, he was able to perform about half of the spells they asked him to do. It was an excruciating half hour, but the one spent waiting for Ginny was even worse. 

After what felt like an eternity, the fireplace roared to life, and Ginny stepped through. Bill followed behind her and they were both laughing. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re not gonna believe what Ginny did, Ron,” Bill said, still laughing lightly. “She had been doing all the spells they threw at her, she was doing amazing. But instead of complimenting her, they suggested-” he broke off in a fit of laughter, and Ron turned to Ginny. 

She was smiling smugly as she finished her brother’s sentence. “Alecto suggested that I was only good at dueling because my mentors were too easy on me, so I asked if I could duel her.”

Bill regained his composure enough to add, “She had the sweetest, most innocent smile. You know the one she uses on dad? And Alecto agreed! So, they get started, and Ginny she, she-” Bill breaks off in another fit of laughter.

“You didn’t Ginny!?” Ron practically shrieks. “Not the bat-bogey hex?”

“THE BAT-BOGEY HEX!” Bill shouts in between guffaws. By now, Charlie who had been in the other room eating lunch had heard the commotion and had come it to investigate.

“What’s going on?” Ron probably would’ve found the look on Charlie’s face as he walks in the room to find his brother and sister rolling on the floor laughing more than a little hilarious, if he wasn’t concerned about what Ginny had just done.

“Apparently, Ginny thought it a good idea to perform the bat-bogey hex on Alecto,” Ron explained. 

“She what?!” Ron was thankful Charlie seemed to be as upset about this as he was, until Charlie started laughing too. 

“Does nobody see how this could be really bad?” Ron shouted over his siblings. Slowly, they quieted their laughter. 

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Ginny asked, challenging her brother. “They send me in the arena without my wand? You should’ve seen Bagman’s face when those bogeys flew out of Alecto; there’s no way he’s not giving me a wand. It’s a game, Ron, that’s all it is to them.” 

“She’s right, Ron,” Bill added. “They liked her guts. The Carrows will probably give her a low score, but Bagman and Crouch will rate her highly for that.” 

Ron wouldn’t admit it, but that worried him too. If Ginny got a high score, as she probably would, that would make the purebloods go after her, and Ron knew he had no chance at protecting her against them. 

…

“What the defense for boggarts?” 

“Ridikulus,” Hermione answered. “That’s what Lupin was teaching.”

“Oh, right.” John had been asking the occasional question throughout the morning while they prepared for the exam. She had found some schoolbooks in the loft, and McGonagall said they could look through them, so Hermione was reading everything she could while answering John’s questions. It was the most they had spoken so far, and Hermione was glad that, though they weren’t allies, John wasn’t above asking for help. She was more than willing to help the fourteen-year-old. 

“What are bowtruckles good for?”

“They’re tree guardians, but they are very adept at picking locks.”

She finished the book she was flipping through and tried to decide which book to go through next. It was almost 4 o’ clock which meant she had about 2 hours until her exam. That meant she had time for one more book, but there were two she really wanted to read. As she weighed the pros and cons of each book, John came over to grab a book. 

“Which one are you going to read next?” He had been trying to focus his questions on which subject she was covering, so it made sense for him to know. 

“I can’t decide between these two.” Hermione gestured to the books in front of her. Although she had read the one before, years ago, it made sense to read it again. The other, though, would probably be more applicable for the exam. 

“Why would you read this one?” John picked up the one she had already read, and Hermione realized she couldn’t answer him without revealing what she knew about the arena. She had never been good at coming up with lies at the top of her head, but she did her best.

“Just a bit of light reading, I guess? I thought it would be interesting.” 

“Yeah but not very helpful, don’t you think?”

“I suppose not,” Hermione was forced to admit. She decided to avoid suspicion and read the potions book instead of the other one. If anything, she could just read that one after the exam before she went to bed. Although, she would have to be careful not to let McGonagall see, in case she grew suspicious as well. 

They settled back into their routine of him asking a question every few minutes as she read through the book. Time flew by, and the next thing Hermione knew, McGonagall and Tonks appeared to usher John to the fireplace. 

“Now, remember to smile and be polite.” McGonagall urged him. “I know it’s hard to be nice to these people, but part of your score is their impression of you. Tonks, you’ll stay with Miss Granger?” Tonks agreed, and she bid John good luck. Once they had left, Tonks turned to find Hermione growing stressed. 

“You still have plenty of time, Hermione.”

“30 minutes is not plenty of time, Tonks,” Hermione argued. “What if they ask me to perform nonverbal spells? I’m a bit out of practice with those.”

“If you even remotely manage a nonverbal spell, you could get every question wrong, fail to perform all the other spells, and they would still give you a 12,” Tonks assured her. “You’re going to do great.” Hermione knew Tonks was right, but she knew there was always something else to learn. 

“Tell you what, we’ll spend the next the next half hour talking about strategy in the arena. Getting your mind off the exam will be helpful, I think.” Hermione agreed, and Tonks sat on the couch across from her. “So, who do you have for allies?”

“Draco, Harry, Ron, and Ginny. And then Neville, Luna, and John are not a threat.”

“That’s good. Who would you consider to be a threat?”

“Theo and Astoria are my biggest concern. She’s not much for magic, but she’s sure to get a lot of sponsors. Also, the tributes from 4 are pretty good, and I think Blaise from 7 will better than he’s letting on.” 

“OK, we can work with that. The purebloods are usually the biggest alliance, but with Draco on your side, your alliance with Harry will definitely rival theirs. You’ll be their biggest threat also, so be sure to watch your back in there, and you’ll want to find your allies as soon as you can.

“OK, what about supplies? If I don’t have my wand right away, what do I do?”

“They’ll have a surplus of supplies available, but that’s exactly where the purebloods will be, so you’ll want to avoid that as much as possible. I suggest you grab whatever is nearest and then steer clear of that area. But, the most important thing is getting your wand. They’ll provide some instructions on how to get it when the Tournament begins.”

They discussed strategy for a little bit longer, and then next thing Hermione knew, John was reappearing through the fireplace. Before she could panic about not being ready, Tonks was ushering her through the fireplace, and then she was standing in front a group of men. 

“Hermione Granger, District 11,” Amycus introduced her to the other wizards. Ludo Bagman stepped forward, and she forced herself to relax and remember what McGonagall said about being polite.

“Mr. Bagman, pleasure seeing you again.” She offered her hand and smiled as she had at her introductions the week before. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Granger. You know Barty Crouch Sr?”

“Of course,” She turned to him and was startled by how opposite he and his son were. “An honor, Mr. Crouch.”

“My son mentioned he had the pleasure of meeting you,” Crouch said, and Hermione told herself she was imagining the accusatory tone. “He said you were his favorite of any tribute he’s ever met. My son and I don’t agree on much, but perhaps you can persuade me to agree with him for once.” At last he smiled, and Hermione realized she’d been holding her breath. She let out a small chuckle.

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Shall we begin?” Alecto asked, obviously irritated. Hermione had never seen the woman so angry, and she wondered who had upset her so much. She hoped the woman’s mood wouldn’t affect her score. 

“Ah, yes,” Ludo said realizing the time. “You’ll have 30 minutes to answer a series of questions in the written portion and to perform a variety of spells in the practical portion. You decide how much time to spend on each section. The more questions you answer and spells you perform, the higher your score.” Hermione told them yes, she understood and no, she didn’t have any questions. She was directed to the desk where 19 tributes before her sat and determined their fate in the arena; as she sat, she forced herself to breath and remember everything she learned. 

“Alright, Miss Granger,” Amycus gestured to an hourglass, “Your 30 minutes begin now.” Hermione unrolled the parchment on the desk, dipped her quill in ink, and read the first question.

‘What is the only defensive spell against dementors?’ Hermione almost laughed at how simple it was. She knew better than to hope the rest of the questions would be so easy. She wrote ‘the patronus charm’ and refrained from unnecessary elaboration. The faster she progressed through the questions, the more she’d be able to answer. Hermione quickly discovered the majority of the questions could be answered with just a few short words; only a few required longer, more detailed, answers. Those questions, which included potion concoctions and advanced spells, took Hermione a little longer to answer, but she refused to skip over them. At a small sound from someone next to her, she looked up and discovered she was halfway through her allotted time. She finished describing how to make a Polyjuice potion and set down her quill. 

“Ready for the practical session?” Amycus asked. Hermione nodded and stood from her seat, accepting her wand gratefully from him, she prepared for the first spell. “Shall we start with something comfortable? Perhaps a levitation spell?” he suggested. Aiming her wand at a pillow provided for her, Hermione complied effortlessly. 

“Summoning spell?” Alecto offered, and Hermione summoned another pillow. “Banishing charm?” Spell after spell, Hermione demonstrated her ability, and spell after spell, she earned praise from Ludo and Crouch. As the spells got progressively harder, Hermione worried about what Hagrid said about protecting her professors in District 10. She dreaded the inevitable question from Crouch, or Ludo, or even the Carrows. How did she get so good at magic? She had rehearsed her answer the night before, but even still, she wasn’t sure she could answer confidently. 

Eventually, Crouch announced time had come to an end. “Well, Miss Granger, I must say I could watch you do magic all day. Unfortunately, your time is up, and, unless you are crowned Victor, this is the last we’ll see your impressive skill.” Understanding the implication, Hermione offered her wand to Amycus who placed in the box from where it came. She thanked them for their consideration, making a point to smile at both Ludo and Crouch, and followed Tonks, who was beaming proudly at her, through the fireplace and back to the loft. 

“Hermione, you did wonderful,” Tonks declared. “The best I’ve ever seen a tribute do.”

“You’re exaggerating Tonks, but thank you.” Her anxiety for the exam had drained her and left her feeling exhausted. She wondered if she should take a nap before dinner, or just go to bed altogether, but then she remembered the book waiting for her. She feigned a yawn, that turned into a real yawn, and looked apologetically at her mentor. “I think I’m going to go lay down for a bit, is that ok?”

“Of course, Hermione, it’s been a long day, long couple weeks really. Your training is complete, and you deserve some rest. Tomorrow is the interviews, when they’ll reveal your scores, and you’ll want to be at your best then, for it’s the last chance to earn the favor of the sponsors. So, off to bed with you, go get some rest.” Hermione bid her goodnight, absentmindedly grabbing a few books on the way, making a point to grab one in particular. 

In her room, Hermione settled into bed and did her best to fight off fatigue as she read through the book, hoping it would be enough to give her the advantage she needed in the arena. 

…

Crouch settled into the chair at the head of the table and smiled brightly at everyone around him. Ludo was on his right, the Carrows to his left, and a few of the other board members sat across from him. 

“Now for the fun part, everyone. For almost two weeks, we’ve watched the tributes evolve into who they’ll be in the arena. The Carrows took careful notes throughout their training, and we have our evaluations from the exams; now to take those scores and give them a number that will define them in the Tournament.”

“I think I speak for everyone here,” Ludo added, “when I say this is the most exciting part, besides what actually goes on in the arena, of course.”

“Right you are, Ludo. Let’s being! In front of you are folders of every tribute with a short biography and the results from their exam along with any notes the Carrows, Ludo, or myself took. First, District 1: Draco Malfoy.” Everyone opened the folder labeled D. Malfoy and perused the papers. 

“I see he did very well on the written,” Ludo mused. “Just as well as he did on the practical portion. Amycus, what’s this note here? ‘Malfoy doesn’t seem to be applying himself to anything other than gaining alliances’.”

“We all know Malfoy is good at magic,” Amycus answered, “He was top of his class almost every year at Hogwarts. However, he was holding back in training, which is common of course, but he spent more time trying to get the muggle-born to trust him than actually training.”

“Muggle-born? You mean Granger?” Crouch asked. “I heard rumors they were in an alliance, but I didn’t really believe it.”

“He’d be stupid not to consider her,” Ludo pointed out. 

“True, wanting her as an ally proves he’s willing to go to any lengths to win, even allying with a muggle-born purely because she appears to be just as good as he.” Crouch thought for a moment. “Very well, Carrows your rating, please.” He slid them a score card. The card had three sections: training, exam, and evaluations. In the training section, there was a box for each of the Carrows, to write their score on a scale of 1-4. Amycus wrote his number, followed by his sister, and slid it back to Crouch. He wrote the scores from the written and practical in the second section and added them together to determine the score for that section. Then, he wrote in his rating in one of the boxes for the evaluation section, before passing the paper to Ludo who did the same. It was then passed back to him who averaged this number with that and added those numbers, and then he had Malfoy’s final score. The paper was passed to the other board members for confirmation. Once in agreement, Malfoy’s score was posted on the wall. 

“Well that was fun,” Crouch exclaimed, looking proudly at the number. “Who’s next?”


	9. The Interviews

Hermione didn’t know what to make of it. She had watched the Interviews live like everyone else, but she hadn’t realized just how ridiculous they were. For one, they were filmed in front of a live audience. Secondly, they were to be presented in a similar fashion to their introductions. The Floo Network had taken her, John, McGonagall, and Tonks to some building, and they were immediately rushed to dressing rooms before Hermione could examine the place. 

Fleur was already there to inform Hermione that no amount of pleading could derail her from the vision she had planned. Her makeup was too much, and her dress was nowhere near enough. Once again, Fleur had put her in red, but this dress managed to be even shorter than the last.

“Zee Capitol always see zee District 10 tributes as naïve children that don’t belong with zee grown up magical world. My job is to make sure they see you as a sexy sophisticated witch, and you are,” she had explained. Once she was dressed, or so Fleur claimed her to be, she was escorted to a sort of waiting room where John, McGonagall, and Tonks were already settled in. John was wearing nice robes, and his hair was styled. Other than that, though, he looked pretty much the same. Well, maybe more nervous. A muggle TV was placed along the wall, and it was showing the stage where Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch Sr were talking about past Tournaments. They had begun the televised program a quarter of an hour before and were about to reveal the scores of the tributes. 

At 9 o’clock, Draco would begin his interview, and in 15-minute intervals, the tributes would have their chance to win over the sponsors in the audience. Hermione would get her chance at about a quarter to three. During that time, she was to be charming, witty, and act as though this whole ordeal was a great experience worth dying for. Which she probably would. 

She hadn’t understood why there was a need for her to get ready so early; she had almost 7 hours until her interview, and then Fleur would be giving her a new look for the feast. But sitting there listening to Crouch and Ludo banter back and forth, Hermione grew anxious to see Draco’s interview. She knew she would want to see that and then would probably want to watch everyone else’s interviews also. So, she would have to sit in that waiting room watching the same program that everyone else in the UK would be watching and do her best not to mess up her makeup or spill food on her dress. 

She sat in a comfortable chair with a plate of food and focused on the TV. 

“I think my favorite was Tom. Wouldn’t you agree Barty? My father loved to tell me the story as a kid.”

“Well Tom is everyone’s favorite of course. A presumed muggle, orphaned at birth, then revealed to be half-blood with lineage that could be traced back to Salazar Slytherin himself. He went from muggle to renowned Victor in just a few short years.”

“We were all charmed by the sixteen-year-old,” continued Ludo. “And we were prepared to be devastated when he failed to win the Tournament. But au contraire! Tom was just as ruthless as he was handsome.” Ludo laughed. “I remember my father recalling shock of him killing the girl from his district, with his bare hands mind you, for her wand that first night. But it was the glee on his face as he recounted it for the Prophet that really sticks with us. He is the reminder about what the Tournament is really about.”

“Yes,” Barty agreed. “Too often, we get sucked into the politics of the event. Who gets the most sponsors, the likelihood of who’s going to win. When it’s really about who deserves to win! That’s what the Tournament was created for in the first place, for muggle-borns and half-bloods to prove they deserve a place in our world.”

“And Tom did,” Ludo added. “He won the Tournament, finished his schooling at Hogwarts, and went on to get a job here in the Capitol.” 

“Borgin and Burkes, wasn’t it?”

“I believe so. And after that, he became a professor at Hogwarts where he currently teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. Who would’ve thought?”

“That’s the reward of being a Victor: you get to live the life that you previously never would’ve imagined.”

“Or deserved,” Ludo added. 

“Of course.” Barty agreed. “Now while I could talk about our favorite Victors all day-”

“There’s Bellatrix Lestrange, Alastor Moody, and Gilderoy Lockhart just to name a few,” Ludo interjected. 

“However,” Barty continued, “It is time to announce the scores of this year’s tributes. Ludo I’ll let you do the honors.”

“Thank you, Barty. For scoring, we compile a rating from their trainers, their scores from the exam, and our own evaluations,” Ludo gestured to himself and Barty. “The lowest possible score is 1 with 12 as the highest.” A screen behind them became the focus as a picture of Draco appeared on it. “From District 1, Draco Malfoy received,” Ludo waved his wand and a number appeared. “A 10.”

“Very impressive,” Crouch commented as the live audience applauded. The picture of Draco changed to one of Astoria. 

“From District 1, Astoria Greengrass received,” he waved his wand, “an 8.” Despite a lower score, the audience cheered just as loudly as they had for Draco, but Hermione suspected that to be more for her physical attributes rather than her magical skill. The picture changed yet again to one of Theo. “From District 2, Theo Nott received a 10.” A pause for the crowd to cheer and the picture to change, then Ludo continued. “From District 2, Pansy Parkinson received a 7.” 

The scores continued on, and Hermione made note of which tributes received high scores. For the purebloods, Draco and Theo were the only ones to get a 10; the rest were either 7’s or 8’s with the girl from 4 getting a 9. Her allies did surprisingly well, Ron and Neville each received a 7 while Luna got an 8 and Harry a 9. Hermione was very pleased to see Ginny was granted a 10, and she hoped sponsors would choose to help the young Weasley. As she suspected, Blaise proved to be holding back in training when he was also given a 10. Only a few of the tributes, the half-bloods who were younger than the rest of them, received lower than a 7. Finally, the picture on the screen was of John. 

“From District 10, John Smith received a 7.” McGonagall and Tonks applauded, but John didn’t seem to be very proud of himself, and Hermione didn’t blame him. She wouldn’t be happy with herself for a score that low. She felt her palms grow sweaty as the picture changed to one of her. It was one taken from her introductions. She was smiling proudly, as though she had won a pageant of sorts, and she was even waving at the crowd. 

“From District 10, Hermione Granger received an 11!” While he had remained neutral until then, or as neutral as a game host could be, Ludo couldn’t help the excitement in his voice at announcing her score. It was the highest of the year, and probably the highest a muggle-born had ever received. Hermione couldn’t believe it. The audience, which had been cheering loudly for every score, seemed to grow impossibly louder. It took a few moments longer for them to quiet down and hear the scores for the boy and girl of District 11, an 8 and a 7, respectfully. 

While Hermione had always received top marks from all of her professors, she never dreamed she would be top of the class of tributes. To receive a score higher than the purebloods, even Draco or Theo, was improbable, but nevertheless that was what happened. She sat in her chair numb to the congratulations from her mentor and escort. Even John didn’t bother hiding his amazement. Eventually, she was pulled out of shock by Crouch bidding farewell for now and Ludo introducing their first tribute: Draco Malfoy. 

 

The audience continued applauding as Draco walked on the stage. Hermione was struck by how handsome he looked in a fitted black suit with his hair slicked back. He was smiling charmingly to the audience and even winked at the camera. Hermione knew it was just a way to earn the favor of the female sponsors, but she couldn’t help but feel it was intended for her. He shook Ludo’s hand and sat in the chair Barty had been in. 

“So, Draco Malfoy, welcome to the Capitol. We’re so glad to have you.”

“I’m happy to be here, Ludo.” Draco responded charmingly. He had been dreading the interview more than any other part of the Tournament; if people asked him about his relationship with his father for small talk, how deep would Ludo want to go in the next fifteen minutes? 

“Now Draco, this isn’t your first time coming to the Capitol, am I right?” 

“It’s not. My mother and I used to spend the summers here to be closer to my father.” Not even a minute in and they were already talking about his father. 

“But your mother never considered moving to the Capitol permanently?”

“No, she wanted to be close to her family. And as I got older, they wanted me to spend my summers building connections.” 

“Like with the Greegrass family?” Draco silently cursed himself for not expecting this turn of conversation. Nobody had bothered to ask him about his prior engagement, but of course they would be dying to know. He chuckled ruefully and decided to hell with it. He’d rather talk about this than anything else. 

“I see what you’re getting at Ludo. Yes, the intention was to have me spend more time with my intended fiancée. Astoria and I, though we attended Hogwarts together, did not have the opportunity to get to know each other very well. We were to marry as soon as she graduated, and our families wanted to ensure we would be happy together.” 

“That’s very sweet.” Ludo almost sounded sincere, but Draco knew he was building up to something. “However, I think it’s safe to assume the wedding is off? Unless you two married in secret or something?” Draco laughed at that, laughed harder than he probably should’ve. 

“No, we are definitely not married.” 

“So, since you and your intended are not to be, would you say anyone else has caught your eye?” Draco scrambled to quickly come up with a suitable response that would satisfy Ludo and not reveal too much.

“There are definitely some attractive tributes this year, Ludo, but it’s a bit hard to form a lasting relationship with someone who very well could be dead in the next few weeks.”

“But there is someone?” 

Draco sighed and decided it’d be best to just put it out there. Hermione would hate him, but it was for the best. “Alright Ludo, you got me. I didn’t want to say anything because I knew my family would disapprove, but I am crazy for this chick, and I know I’m not the only one. She is so beautiful and smart, and well you saw her duel, so you must understand.” 

“Don’t hold us in suspense, Draco. Out with it.”

“The lovely witch that has captured my heart, that is sure to capture everyone else’s, is,” dramatic pause because Draco knew the crowd loved it, “Ginny Weasley of District 5.” The effect was exactly what Draco had hoped. The audience gasped… then cheered. They remembered the fiery redhead from the introductions and collectively made the decision to accept the forbidden romance. Pureblood disappoints father then falls in love will the only daughter of blood traitors in a doomed relationship. Draco fought to control his smirk as the Capitol revealed themselves to be as predictable as he expected. 

Ludo was waiting patiently for the crowd to quiet themselves enough for him to speak. Eventually, he was able to talk again. “Well, I must say I am pleasantly surprised. You almost made it seem like you had fallen for a muggle-born.” Draco forced himself to laugh at that. “But you’re right. I did see Miss Weasley duel, and I must say I am impressed. I heartily give my consent to you allying with Miss Weasley in the arena.”

“Thank you Ludo I gladly will.” Ludo stood, and Draco followed suit shaking his hand in farewell.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Draco Malfoy.” The crowd cheered as Draco departed the stage. Once out of view of the audience and the cameras, he took a breath. The idea to help Little Red had come to him on the last days of training; he knew she would appreciate it, but he doubted her brother would approve. Now, he would have to worry even more about the weasel not trusting him, but more importantly he worried what Hermione would think. Would she know he did it to make the Weaslette more desirable to the Capitol thus ensuring she had sponsors, or would she think he fancied the witch? He hoped it was the former. He would make sure he would have the chance to talk to her alone at the Feast that evening to clear the air before they went into the arena. 

Draco heard the audience cheering and he turned towards the stage to see his ex-fiancée being introduced. He hadn’t wanted to watch the interview, but since he was still standing there, he figured he might as well. Astoria was in a frilly pink dress that showed how young she really was. Draco had expected her stylist would make her look older, so she would appear more available to the sponsors; instead her stylist opted to demonstrate just how young and defenseless she really was. He couldn’t ignore the thought that Astoria’s age wouldn’t stop the sponsors from lusting after the 15-year-old anyway. 

Once they were sitting, Ludo didn’t hesitate to begin his interrogation. 

“So, we learned from Draco that he has no qualms over the end of your engagement. Do you feel the same?”

“Oh yes, Ludo. Like Draco said, we didn’t really know each other, and while I’m sure he would’ve made a fine husband, I had yet to form an emotional connection.”

“And like Draco, have you found solace in someone else?” 

“I have not.” Draco raised his eyebrows at this; he had expected Astoria and Theo to play the doomed relationship card.

“No?”

“I doubt my soulmate is someone who’s about to die. No, I don’t believe I’ve met my soulmate yet. I think they’re still out there waiting for me.” She looked out to the audience, and Draco understood what she was doing. “Who knows? Maybe my soulmate is here in this very room? They’re just waiting for me to win the Tournament, and then we can be together.”

“That’s certainly wishful thinking,” Ludo chuckled. 

“Well surviving the Tournament is an emotional ordeal. I’ll probably need a shoulder to cry on afterwards, someone to comfort and hold me.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a lot of volunteers.” They talked a bit about her family, specifically her older sister, and Draco returned to his room to wait until Hermione’s interview. 

…

“If you’re not shagging the bloke, then why would he tell the entire United Kingdom that he’s in love with you?”

“He didn’t say he was in love with me, Ron. He told all of the sponsors that I’m smart and can duel and am worthy of his alliance.” 

“But you’re not in an alliance with him!”

“Harry said they talked and worked out a deal. As long as we have an alliance with Hermione, then we have an alliance with him.”

“I didn’t agree to that, and neither will you. I don’t trust him and now because of what he said, the entire Capitol thinks you two are shagging.” 

“No, the entire Capitol wants to shag me which means they want me to survive the arena. Gods, Ron you’re so stupid. I thought you wanted me to survive.”

“Receiving a 10 and Malfoy saying he wants to shag you just means the other purebloods are going to go after you first. I can’t protect you from all of them.”

“I don’t need your protection. Thanks to Malfoy, I’ll have sponsors.” Ginny didn’t bother fighting her smirk as her brother struggled to respond to that. She was grateful for what Malfoy did for her. He had asked her a few days before then if she would be interested in some publicity, and Ginny agreed not knowing exactly what he had planned. She doubted he had told Hermione, though, and that worried her, so she was eager to talk to her friend and assure her there was nothing going on between them. She would even admit to which tribute had captured her attention to gain her friend’s trust. That thought made her grow anxious, but she tampered it down. 

Ron was still fuming but had made no effort to continue their argument. Ginny turned to their older brothers who had been smart enough to stay out of their way. Bill raised a questioning eyebrow, Ginny nodded yes, they were done. 

“Now that that’s over, I think we should direct our attention back to the interviews. Theo is about to go on, and seeing how he’s your biggest competitor, we should probably take notes on how well he does with the sponsors.” Ginny nodded and sat back in her seat. Ron followed suit, though he did so stiffly and refused to look at anything other than the screen. 

…

Theo watched his girl leave the stage and forced himself to relax. It had been his idea to not talk about their relationship, but he hadn’t expected her to try to seduce the audience like that. He knew it would help, but that didn’t make it any easier; how would she feel if he went up there and declared he was also in love with the she-weasel. Would she be jealous? Or not even care? Watching Malfoy talk up the redhead had made his blood boil and he wanted nothing more than to sabotage it. If he told the Capitol that he’d been screwing her from the beginning, they would surely believe him and think less of her. But he knew his mentor would disapprove. 

The strategy was to go out there and be confident, sure of himself; it was beyond easy. He was charming and handsome and was sure to win over the Capitol, and even if he didn’t, Theo knew he could still win the Tournament. 

“From District 2, Theo Nott!” Theo put on his best smile and sauntered onto the stage. He shook Ludo’s hand and waved to the audience. It was a piece of cake interview. No, he wasn’t wasting time falling for his enemies or forming friendships. In a couple weeks, he’d be the only one standing. No, he wasn’t nervous. Yes, he was aware he’d always been second to Malfoy, but this isn’t school, he argued. This is about proving you deserve to win, and Theo deserved to win. No, there isn’t anyone he was worried about. Yes, he was sure. No Ludo, the honor was his. Yes, he’ll be seeing him again, after the Tournament. Another wave to the audience as they cheered loudly for the confident Pureblood who was so sure of himself. 

He exited the stage and watched as Parkinson took the stage from the other side. Though they had immediately agreed to an alliance, they hadn’t spoken much about anything other than strategy. They had been classmates at Hogwarts, but Theo had always found her to be annoying. Still, he felt he would miss her after she died. Their families had always been close, and he knew his mother at least had hoped they would marry; that obviously wasn’t going to happen anymore. 

He shrugged off the faint remorse at her impending death, and walked back to his room where he would watch the remainder of the interviews. 

…

Ron was still mad as he stood by the stage waiting for the girl from 4 to finish. He would probably punch Malfoy next time he saw him, and would consequently be forced into the arena without a wand. It’d be worth it, until the first tribute that tried to kill him had their wand out and pointed at his face. Perhaps he would wait until after the Tournament started. 

He was lost in thought and almost didn’t hear Ludo announce him, he snapped out of it and hurried on the stage, only to stumble on the top step. Ron’s appearance on stage was not as graceful as he hoped, and his faced burned in response to the laughter from the audience. Ludo chuckled a little as he sat down.

“Let’s hope you find your footing by the time you’re in the arena.”

“Bloody hell, I hope so too.” The audience laughed at that and Ron felt his nerves settle a bit. Bill and Charlie had tried to devise a stereotype for Ron to fill, but he struggled to fit any suggestions. Turns out, though, he did fine as the comedic relief. 

“Tell me, Ron, what is it you’re dreading most in the arena?”

“You mean besides dying?” Ludo laughed, and the crowd joined in.

“Yes, of course. Are there any fears you have? Phobias?”

“Well, I’ve always been afraid of spiders, and my brothers told me there are spiders in the arena.”

“There’s spiders in this building; I saw one when I was in the bathroom earlier.” Ludo joked. 

“They said there’s big spiders,” Ron elaborated. “Acromantulas.” 

“I haven’t heard about any of those being used in the arena for at least a few years, so you should be fine” Ludo informed him, and Ron let himself trust the host rather than believe he would have to face them. “Besides spiders, anything else you’re afraid of? Not a creature, but perhaps something you wish to prevent?” Ron knew what the host wanted him to say, but he didn’t want to. He refused to let Ginny be used as a weakness against him, although if he was honest with himself, which he probably should be, his sister was the advantage his enemies had against him. 

“You mean my sister?”

“I’m sure you would do anything to protect her.”

“I would, but I don’t need to.” He looked Ludo in the eyes and said the thing he never believed. “Ginny doesn’t need protecting. She can take care of herself.” Ludo thought for a moment before nodding. The crowd took it as encouragement and began to cheer. Ron didn’t know if they were cheering for him or for his sister, either way he was just glad they cheered. 

“Speaking of your sister, I believe it is her turn.” The crowd clapped as Ron left the stage then broke into cheers as Ginny took his place. He stopped next to the stage and watched as his sister waved to the crowd. She was smiling, but Ron could tell from where he stood that it wasn’t sincere. 

“Ginny Weasley, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Ludo shared a conspiring look with her and Ginny returned it. 

“It’s been so long since we’ve last seen each other,” she returned, “My exam, was it?”

“I believe so,” Ludo answered before barking out a laugh. He turned to the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, you will not believe the sort of spark this witch has. I would love to tell you the story, but unfortunately, I don’t think her trainers would take to kindly to that. Besides, I think you all would rather hear about something else. Am I right?” The audience cheered their response, and Ludo turned back to Ginny. “So, tell me Ginny, is there a special someone in your life right now?”

“Whatever do you mean, Ludo?”

“Oh, don’t be coy,” Ludo teased. “I know you heard what Draco had to say about you. Now spill. Are you interested? You must have given him reason to think you’re available.”

“If you must know,” Ginny sighed, “I’ve been so focused on training that I hadn’t even considered that someone as gorgeous as Draco Malfoy would even notice me, but now that he has…” She trailed off and gave a knowing smirk to the audience. “I guess we’ll see what happens in the arena.”

“You can’t leave us hanging like that,” Ludo protested. “If you die in there, how will we ever know? I’m sure Draco is too much of a gentleman to tell us anything, or maybe he would make up lies to try to impress us. How will we know?”

“Tell you what Ludo,” Ginny turned to the audience, “When I win, I promise to tell you everything, no details spared.”

“So, we’re just supposed to hope you win?”

“I said when I win, Ludo. Don’t tell me you doubt me even after my exam? And if you don’t think that’s enough, you make sure some of them,” she gestured to the audience, “help me out a bit. How does that sound?” Ludo laughed and conceded. 

“Alright, sounds like a deal.” He turned to the crowd. “You better help her out in there. If she dies without me hearing the juicy details, I’m personally holding all of you responsible.” The crowd cheered loudly, and Ginny stood up with Ludo. She curtsied politely and shook his hand before exiting the stage. 

Ron was still there waiting for her, but he was a lot less angry than he had been before his interview. Ginny was going to say something, but he cut her off with a hug. She hugged him back, and he whispered in her ear, “You better not die in there, or I’m personally holding you responsible.” She chuckled and promised him she wouldn’t. 

…

“You don’t seem to be a man of many words, Blaise.” 

“…”

“Tell me, Blaise, have you considered an alliance with anyone? No? What about something a bit friendlier than an alliance, huh? Handsome guy like you must have some admirers. Surely there must be a special witch in your life. Or Wizard?”

“I wasn’t aware this was a matchmaking game.” 

“Well it’s not, but you teenagers with your hormones are always eager to find someone to woo, and where better than a tournament designed to pit you all against each other. We’re all suckers for a forbidden and doomed romance, aren’t we ladies and gentlemen.”

“Why would I waste my time snogging some chick when I should be preparing to fight for my life?”

“I didn’t say you were snogging her, maybe it’s just pining right now. I’ve seen the many beautiful witches of this year’s tournament, you must find at least a few of them attractive. And with that comes pining.” 

“Like I said, why would I waste my time?” Blaise looked out to the crowd masking his face into a bored indifference. He refused to let Ludo humanize him. Here, he was just a tribute forced to participate in the Capitol’s death game. The other tributes could pour out their heart to the audience all they want, declaring their love for each other or promising to wait for their soulmate after they win, but he wouldn’t. As soon as the Capitol sees them as human, they see weakness, and Blaise wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. 

“So, no romance for you. What about allies? With your score, the other tributes must be dying to get you on their side.” 

“I’ve been approached by some of the purebloods, but they’re too busy focusing on their own problems to be any use to me. In the end, there’s only one person in that arena that I’ll trust with my life.”

“I suppose I can’t fault you that, Blaise. Since you have no allies, no emotional connection to anyone here in the Tournament, why don’t we talk about your family? How’s your mom?”

“Last I heard she was doing good, busy with her upcoming wedding.”

“Husband number 8, is it?”

“Something like that.” 

“Let’s hope this one survives longer than the honeymoon phase at least.” Once the laughter from the audience died down, Ludo finally said what Blaise had been waiting for. “I think that’s all the time we have.” Blaise escaped the stage eagerly, not bothering to watch his fellow tributes interview. 

…

Hermione stood by the stage forcing herself to breath. She wanted nothing more than to go up there and yell at everyone for how barbaric this was, to explain that treating them as though contestants on a game show was humiliating, but Tonks basically forbade her from doing that. She was to continue being friendly and flattered by the whole ordeal. The Capitol had loved her introduction, she was beautiful-according to Tonks and Fleur-and she received the highest score of all the tributes. Now, she was to go up there and convince them she deserved their help. 

John was currently up there attempting to do just that. Ludo had asked him about allies and was trying to get John to admit being secretly in love with his ally. Hermione swore she wouldn’t allow her interview to go anywhere near that subject. After watching Draco’s and then Ginny’s a few hours later, she doubted she could manage the conversation. Her logical side was reasoning that it was merely their strategy, but her all too human emotional side kept screaming that Draco had been stringing her along this whole time only to settle for her more experienced, and more beautiful, friend. 

If interrogated about someone catching her fancy, Hermione was likely to burst into tears and hex them all, if she had her wand. No, she would keep the topic on her score and her strategy in the arena. She would also have to focus on not revealing that she knew the secret of the arena. 

The audience cheered signaling John’s departure and Hermione’s imminent arrival. She took another breath to steady her nerves and prepared to take the stage. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, from District 10, the muggle-born full of surprises, Hermione Granger!” Hermione put on her best smile and crossed the stage to where Ludo stood waiting. She smiled to the audience, and was grateful to discover the muggle lights were so bright, she couldn’t discern any faces in the crowd. Ignoring the loud applause, Hermione could almost pretend it was just her and Ludo. She shook the interviewer’s hand and sat. “Always a pleasure, Hermione.”

“The pleasure is always mine, Ludo.” 

“I had so many questions ready for you, about your family, your schooling in district 10, allies, secret affairs,” Hermione fought to keep her face neutral as he listed everything she didn’t really want to talk about, “but then we went over your score, and I realized there isn’t anything I’d rather talk about.” Hermione relaxed in relief, this was a topic she was ready to discuss. 

“I was surprised,” Hermione admitted. “I had no idea I did that well.”

“Surely, you must know how intelligent you are.”

“That part I wasn’t too worried about. It was the evaluation yourself, Mr. Crouch, and the Carrows gave me, that I was most anxious for.” 

“Nonsense, you were one of my favorites. Right up there with Miss Weasley.” He turned to the crowd and addressed them, “I won’t bother you with all the details of how we calculate the scores, but we were so astounded when we did Miss Granger’s, that we redid the math three more times just to be sure. Never has a muggle-born scored higher than a pureblood, and never ever has a muggle-born scored an 11.” The crowd applauded, and Hermione felt herself smile genuinely. “We aren’t allowed to discuss specifics about the exam, but I must tell you that you answered the most exam questions of all the tributes, and of the ones you answered, you got them all correct. Isn’t that something?” The audience cheered again, and Hermione chuckled in embarrassment. 

“Your teachers in District 10 must be proud.” Hermione remembered what Hagrid said and went over her rehearsed response once more before saying it out loud. 

“Honestly, you can’t give them much credit. Most of the questions and spells from the exam aren’t taught in District 10. I’m embarrassed to admit that I had a habit of sneaking into the library and studying books we weren’t allowed to. I learned a lot-in theory of course, magic is restricted in my district. It wasn’t until training began that I was able to practice all the spells I read about, and it was truly the Carrows that helped me master those spells. They really are amazing trainers.” There, that should keep the teachers in 10 safe from the Capitol’s scrutiny. If anyone decided they had a problem with how much Hermione knew, the blame would be on the Carrows. 

“Then I guess your trainers outdid themselves this year.” Ludo encouraged the audience to clap for the Carrows before returning to the interview. “As a muggle-born, you probably never expected you’d see the Capitol, am I correct? Now that you’re here, what would you say your favorite part of this ordeal has been?”

Hermione thought for a moment before answering honestly. “I’d have to say it would be the opportunity. Growing up in District 10, we’re basically all considered muggles, the only difference is the wand we’re granted under a set of strict guidelines and the partaking in the Reaping. I finished school this year, and I wouldn’t be eligible for the tournament once I turned 18, at which point I’m more muggle than witch. I was going to get a job, probably with my parents, and then maybe become a teacher; no matter what I did though, I would live in District 10, performing over-regulated magic and otherwise being a muggle. Here, I’m still a muggle-born, a mudblood as some would prefer, but at least I’m a witch. Here, I can learn actual spells to help me survive, and if I die in that arena, it will be as a witch who fought for her life, and not as a muggle.” 

The room was silent for a moment before Ludo spoke. “Well my dear, I hope that you not die as a witch or a muggle, but rather that you survive as a Victor.” The crowd cheered, and Ludo stood prompting Hermione to follow. “Ladies and gentlemen, our favorite muggle-born, I daresay our favorite witch, from District 10, Hermione Granger!” Hermione smiled, and this time it was genuine. Sure, they would treat her death as just a plot point in their favorite drama, but in this moment, they were cheering for her victory.   
 


	10. The Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe this chapter took so long. We'll blame work and the holidays. We finally get some fluff in this chapter and I hope you like it.

As soon as the interviews were over, the tributes were escorted back to their dressing rooms where they were to change and prepare for the Feast. An extension of the Capitol’s cruelty was to throw a Feast to celebrate the commencement of the Tournament, a celebration in which the tributes were forced to participate. Past Victors were also invited to partake in the event and sponsors would be there to meet the tributes again after having a better understanding of their capabilities. 

Hermione dreaded the affair: talking to sponsors, being charming, getting dressed by Fleur again, and most of all, seeing Draco. She couldn’t bear the thought of talking to him, regardless of what he would have to say. In less than 24 hours, Hermione would be in the arena, and her focus should be on nothing other than survival; for too long, she let Draco distract her. Even now, she was sitting in a chair and Fleur was talking to her about her hair, Draco was still the only thing on her mind. She forced herself to pay attention to what her French stylist was saying.

“There is just so much of it, but it is très belle. I ‘ate pinning it back just to see your face. Don’t get me wrong, you ‘ave a nice face too, but I know at least one person that would like to see your ‘air down and who would I be to deny zee boy-”

“Wait, what boy? Who told you that?”

“Oh, just ignore me! I never know ‘ow to keep secrets,” Fleur laughed whimsically, and Hermione tried not to get hysterical.

“Fleur, if you’re talking to someone about me, then I deserve to know.”

“Fine, but don’t tell ‘im I told you. That handsome tribute from District 1, Draco Malfoy, caught me earlier today. Zee boy practically begged me to style your ‘air down, would not tell me why, but it should not be difficult to figure out, non?” Fleur looked at her through the mirror with a knowing smirk. Hermione cursed herself for it, but she needed to talk to somebody. 

“What am I doing Fleur? We’re tributes in the Wizard’s Tournament! One of us is going to die, maybe even both of us, and all I can think about is whether or not he thinks about me as much as I think about him. It’s foolish and stupid, and I don’t want to be just another girl who gets her heart broken by Draco Malfoy.” 

Fleur looked at Hermione sympathetically and began unraveling her hair from the intricate knot it had been for her interview. After a moment she spoke. “You want my advice? That boy is crazy about you, and your ‘air,” she chuckled. “When you are in that arena, your focus should be on surviving, but also you should consider living while you are in there. If I had a man talk about me zee way he talks about you, I would make sure to spend every second of zee rest of my life with ‘im. Not everyone is lucking enough to meet their one before they die.” Before Hermione could argue that Draco was not the one, her stylist held up her hand. “And if Draco is not zee one for you, then at least he is a boy that cares about you and will make sure you know ‘ow beautiful he thinks you are. You go into that arena and tell that boy he makes you crazy and maybe he breaks your heart. There’s worst people to have your heart broken by. But my guess is, breaking your heart is that last thing he wants to do.”

Lost in thought, Hermione almost didn’t notice what Fleur was doing to her hair. Instead of pinning it all up, her stylist had gathered about a third of it and twisted it into a bun on the top of her head. A few small chunks were left out to frame face and the rest was down, cascading over her shoulders. It was frizzy after having been up almost constantly for the last couple weeks, but Fleur was applying various hair products to define her natural curls. 

“Looks nice, non?” 

“It looks amazing Fleur.”

“No, you look amazing ‘ermione. Never forget that this is you. I merely make it easier to see. Now, for makeup.”

An hour later, Hermione was dressed and ready for the feast. This time, Fleur put her in periwinkle. The dress was longer than her others but still hugged her body closely; she was more comfortable in this dress than the others, and Hermione was sincere in her compliments to Fleur. They met McGonagall and John in the waiting room, and Fleur was received with more compliments for her styling skills. From there they returned to the fireplace through which they had arrived that morning, but this time it would take them to the Feast. 

Looking around the palace, it was easy for Hermione to remember that it had once been home to the Muggle royalty of Britain. The palace was huge and the most beautiful place she had ever been. The room she had appeared in was crowded with people dressed extravagantly. Whereas the outdoor venue for their introductions was more of a cocktail dress attire, the Feast appeared to be an evening gown event. She noticed a few of the tributes, mainly purebloods, chatting with people, and Hermione groaned inwardly at the idea of having to spend the evening mingling. 

Hermione caught a glimpse of pink, and she turned to see Tonks emerge from the fireplace behind her. Her mentor’s hair was its usual bubblegum pink, albeit longer; it contrasted nicely with her classic black dress. 

“Wotcher Hermione,” her mentor greeted her. “Ready to suck up to some sponsors?” Hermione reluctantly stated she was, and Tonks pulled her through the crowd similar to their first introduction. 

Many of the sponsors who had made no effort in meeting Hermione after her introductions were now eager to have a conversation with her. She was complimented on her attire and her score. Tonks bragged about how smart her tribute was and how she was sure Hermione could win. The sponsors readily agreed they shared the same enthusiasm and expectations. Hermione would have been flattered had it not been for the fact that when it came down to it, the only people that would actually mourn her death would be her family and few close friends. 

After almost an hour of socializing, it was announced that dinner would be served soon. Tonks led Hermione to the dining hall where the guests were taking their seats. Two tables were set, one for the tributes and their mentors, and the other for sponsors and Capitol Officials. Hermione found her designated seat as stated by her place card. Tonks was on her right, John across from her, and McGonagall on his left. Hermione was startled to see Bellatrix Lestrange sit next to John; looking at the place card next to hers, she was even more surprised to see that Draco would be sitting on her left. 

“Hello Dora,” Bellatrix greeted her niece, “How’s your mother?” The seemingly ordinary question caught Hermione off-guard. So far, her experience with the witch had painted her as cruel, sadistic, and prejudice against anything impure. 

“She’s doing well Aunt Bella.”

“And Travers? He’s well?”

“Yeah, Dad’s been busy at work of course, but that’s to be expected this time of year. Once the Tournament ends he’ll be home more. You’ll be invited, of course, to our post-tournament dinner we have every year.”

“I look forward to it. I love to discuss the Tournament with Travers at those dinners; I get to criticize him about anything I didn’t like about the arena, though we all know he doesn’t get much of a say.”

“Actually, Dad says they’re letting him choose a few of the creatures they’ll let loose in the arena, not that he’ll tell me which ones of course.” She leaned towards Hermione and stage whispered, “He doesn’t think I can keep a secret.” 

“That’s because you can’t Dora.” Hermione jumped slightly; she hadn’t heard Draco approach but now he was pulling out his chair next to her and having a seat. He smirked at her, and she refused to meet his eyes. He would inevitably comment on her hair, and Hermione would get flustered, he would say something charming, and then she’d remember that they were sitting with his aunt and cousin, and then she’d be mortified. No, she would remain focused on the task at hand, which was to stay alive. 

“So, Miss Granger,” Bellatrix addressed her, “My niece tells me you’re the smartest tribute she’s ever mentored. And based on your score, my guess is she’s not far off. Had it not been for your muggle parents, you’d have gone to Hogwarts and would’ve been in Ravenclaw.” 

“That’s very kind of you to say Miss Lestrange, but I would’ve preferred to be in Gryffindor.”

“Oh? Noble, are we? Perhaps a bit reckless and short-tempered? Or is it just your arrogance that would make Gryffindor a good fit?”

“Bella,” Draco warned. 

“Relax Draco, we’re merely speaking in a hypothetical sense. Miss Granger is muggle-born, and therefore we don’t know what house she would be in and no way of finding out. Hogwarts is not a place for Mudbloods, even Godric himself agreed with that. Sure, she’s wooing the sponsors now, but as soon as the Tournament starts, the sponsors can only do so much. She’s managed to secure quite a few enemies with her arrogance, and those enemies will have their own sponsors and real schooling to help them. But if Miss Granger thinks she’s brave enough to be a lion, then she can be a lion.” Deciding she was finished with the conversation, Bellatrix turned to the person on her right and began talking to him. 

Draco turned to Hermione and said in a low voice, “Please excuse my aunt, she’s very firm in her beliefs.” Hermione merely nodded. What Bellatrix said hadn’t bothered her, not much anyway, but she didn’t fancy the good points she made. Theo had already made it clear he would be coming after her. Second only to Draco in school, he himself would be a challenge, coupled with sponsors and however many allies he had accrued, Hermione didn’t stand a chance. 

“Are you ok?” Draco asked, still quiet to prevent anyone from joining their conversation. 

“I’m fine, just thinking about tomorrow and…”

“Well don’t. At least not right now. Just for tonight, I want you to forget about what’s coming and have fun.”

“Have fun? Are you serious Draco? How am I supposed to just forget that tomorrow we’re all going to be trying to kill each other?”

“Simply: you enjoy the food we’re about to be served, you laugh with Tonks, you think about how many guys are appreciating how beautiful you are, and then you dance with me until the night ends. If you’re going to be thinking about anything, it’s going to be about how much fun you’re having.” He flashed a charming smile that Hermione couldn’t help reciprocating. 

Shortly after that, everyone had found their seats and the Minster of Magic entered the room. Hermione had never cared for the man and therefore made no note of him. Once seated, he signaled for the Feast to begin, and the food appeared. Hermione had never seen so many different kinds of food. Dozens of various meats, pies, potatoes, and other vegetables on an assortment of platters, and pitchers of drinks were available. So engrossed in her food, Hermione made no attempt to continue a conversation with either of the people on her left and right. She heard Draco chuckle at her occasionally, but she ignored him. He may be able to eat like this all the time, but Hermione had never even imagined she’d see this much food, let alone eat it. It was just as amazing as Filch would describe the Great Feast to her. Thinking of the caretaker made her heart clench. The grumpy old man had made an effort to help her the best he could, and she would do her best to make him proud. 

After almost an hour of eating, Hermione couldn’t fit anymore. She had had three plates of turkey and roast beef, potatoes, and carrots. A couple treacle tarts and some pie had been her desert, and few cups of butterbeer had assisted in helping her forget that she was supposed to be nervous about something. When enough of the guests had decided they were stuffed to the brim, the table cleared itself. Draco stood and helped Hermione out of her chair by taking her hand. Instead of letting her go, he held onto her hand and guided her to the ballroom where a live orchestra had begun playing. 

“May I have this dance?” He had already pulled her against him, implying he wouldn’t accept being rejected. Not that Hermione would even think of that. After her talk with Fleur, Hermione had decided she didn’t even care about the interviews and whatever Draco and Ginny had said. 

As though reading her thoughts, Draco brought up the topic. “I hope you know that there is absolutely nothing between me and the Weaslette. I was just helping her out.”

“I know, I just wish you would’ve given me a heads up.”

“Had I actually planned what I was going to do, I would’ve. The opportunity kind of presented itself and I took it.”

“No, I understand. I would’ve done the same for Ginny. She deserves any advantage she can get.” Draco nodded in agreement, and they swayed in silence for a few minutes. Without the butterbeer, Hermione probably would’ve remembered to be aware of how many people were watching them, muggle-born and pureblood, dancing slowly and out of beat with the music. As it were, all she could think about was how comforting it was to feel Draco’s hand on the small of her back. He was just tall enough that, if she wanted, she could rest her head on his chest below his chin. It had been such a long two weeks, she was exhausted, and tomorrow would only bring more anxiety and exhaustion. Giving into temptation, Hermione rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, letting Draco lead the dance. 

Draco felt his heart swell feeling Hermione pressed against him. She was clearly tired, and he was more than eager to give her a few moment’s rest from the excitement of the Tournament. The music had picked up in tempo, but he continued their slow, easy pace. His speech to her about enjoying the night had been for himself also. Tomorrow, he would also begin the fight for his life, and he would do his best to cherish the last days of his life; spending that time with Hermione seemed to be the most efficient way to do that. 

Across the room he spotted his cousin dancing with the Weasley he had caught her with a couple weeks ago. Charlie, he thought his name was, not that it mattered; he was a Weasley and a blood traitor, and their family would disapprove. Draco wondered why Tonks had chosen to flaunt their relationship publicly, or perhaps they hadn’t and to everyone that was unaware of their status it merely looked like they were dancing as fellow Victors and mentors. 

Would they look at Hermione and himself and think they were just allies? No, he decided, not with his hand possessively on her back and her head trustingly on his chest. But it didn’t matter, he told himself, if they wanted to think they had a romance then he should feel so lucky. It made his earlier declaration for Little Red a bit superfluous, if he was being honest with himself, but the Capitol had already fallen for the young Weasley, so his work was done. 

He scanned the dancing couples for a flash of red and after a moment, spotted the witch in question dancing with Potter. Draco chuckled as he realized it was obvious, to him at least, she would rather be dancing with anyone else. Well, not anyone. A quick look around the room and Draco located the man he figured Ginny would rather be with, and sure enough he was in her direct line of sight. The man was standing by himself watching the couple expressionlessly. Feeling Draco’s eyes on him he turned and met his eyes. Draco nodded in comradery-they hadn’t spoken much but what was said between them managed to form a bond neither was intent on breaking-and he returned the nod before turning his attention back to the redhead. 

…

“What are you thinking about?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You just seem really distracted, there must be something on your mind, Tonks.” 

“I’m sorry Charlie, there’s just so much going on, the tournament tomorrow, getting enough sponsors for Hermione and John, I’m worried people are going to find out about us, Remus already suspects.” 

“Have you talked to him?”

“I’ve tried. He’s hurt that I didn’t tell him about what we’re doing, that I didn’t trust him enough to tell him.”

“What did he expect? You would just go around telling everyone? It’s a need-to-know situation, and he didn’t need to know. Lupin can’t hold this against you forever. As for getting sponsors for your tributes, they’ll be fine. You’ve done as much as you can for now, everything else can wait until tomorrow. For now, just dance, enjoy the night.”

…

Ginny could feel him watching her, and she fought the urge to stare him down. She didn’t care for dancing with Harry, but not wanting to be rude, she had accepted when he asked, and she was doing her best to give him her attention during this time. She knew he had only asked her because Ron was worried about her being alone among the sponsors. Harry wasn’t much of a dancer and probably would’ve preferred to be sitting with her brother strategizing about tomorrow. Even now, Ginny could tell he was sizing everyone up.

“Besides Theo, who do you think will be a threat in the arena?” She asked to pass the time. 

“Zabini from 7, the girl from 4, and the boy from 11. They seem the most likely to hunt down people; everyone else is more focused on keeping themselves alive. The purebloods have the biggest alliance, unless we include Malfoy, Neville, and Luna in ours then we’re tied. But I wager their alliance will break faster. As soon as Theo has eliminated those of us he deems his biggest threat, he’ll turn on them.”

“Do you trust Malfoy? Enough to be in an alliance with him?”

“I trust Hermione, and if she trusts him, then I will too. But if I suspect him of anything dishonest, or if Hermione stops trusting him, then he’s gone.”

“I’m sure Ron will be more than eager to get rid of him.” At the thought of her brother, Ginny remembered what tomorrow would entail. As soon as she was able, she would separate herself from her brother and his allies in order to protect him from self-sacrifice. He wouldn’t understand, but she needed to do it. 

“He’ll be ok,” Harry assured her guessing her thoughts. “I’ll look after him, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Don’t worry about him, just do what you need to do.” Harry had guessed early on that Ginny wasn’t much for playing the damsel in distress, whereas Ron was eager to be the hero willing to die to save his sister. However, Harry had decided as soon as his name was called, that he’d be the hero his father had tried to be. This time, he would save as many people as he could, including Ron and Ginny. 

…

McGonagall surveyed the crowd in the ballroom. Both of her tributes were out there, Hermione with Malfoy and John was standing off to the side talking to a couple other tributes. For now, they would be safe, but come tomorrow, as soon as they stepped foot in that arena, they would be fighting for their lives, and it was up to the professor to follow Dumbledore’s plan to keep them alive. He had been vague about so much and she had kept even more from Tonks, but they were expected to trust each other and the headmaster. 

When she had entered his office all those years ago to hear that the proclaimed ‘seer’ had foreseen a way to end this Tournament, to say she was skeptical was a gross under sight. McGonagall would’ve called it rubbish except for Dumbledore’s insistence that it must be true. Now, they were in too deep to not believe something good would come out of all this. 

She watched Potter, Black, and Lupin huddled together in a corner. They clearly had their own ideas how to protect their tributes from the terrors of the arena, but they were about as likely as McGonagall was to disclose that information to anyone else. She thought back to when they were schoolmates, the three of them were closer than siblings. Constantly getting into trouble and concocting the most ridiculous schemes, she had quarreled with them more times than she could count, however they were easily some of her favorite students. She had been more than relieved when each of them survived the Tournament, other students had not been as fortunate. Clearly the three of them knew something that helped them win the tournament. McGonagall could only pray that information would be enough to protect their tributes while Dumbledore’s plan unfolded. 

…

“Hermione? Do you want to go sit down somewhere?” They had been swaying to the music for several songs now, but by the end of the last one, Hermione’s feet were no longer making the effort to move with his. She had moved both arms over his shoulders and he held her waist. 

She nodded sleepily; it couldn’t have been later than 8:30, but Draco guessed the butterbeer and food, coupled with stress, was likely to blame for her fatigue. Exchanging her waist for her hand, Draco led her out of the ballroom and down a hallway away from the crowds. At first, Draco assumed the hall led to a series of deserted room; a suggested moan from behind one of the doors altered his opinion on that subject. At least one of these rooms was being used for couples’ privacy. He hoped Hermione hadn’t noticed, or if she had, that she didn’t think he was trying to get her alone for the same purpose. 

He found a door ajar and poked his head in; determining it to be empty, he led her in. While many districts incorporated Muggle technology, such as electricity, the majority of the Capitol did not have the luxury. As such, this room did not have a light switch. The light from the hall wasn’t bright enough to reach more than a few feet into the room, and without their wands, Draco could see no way to rectify the situation. 

He wondered how to ask Hermione if she was comfortable sitting in the dark with him when she let go of his hand and walked further into the dark. Forcing his eyes to adjust to the dark, Draco made out her outline cross to the side of the room where she stopped by the wall. He thought he saw her open a small box and then with a sharp movement of her hands, a flame appeared in front of her face. She lit some candles along the wall, which Draco could then see was actually a mantle above a fireplace. 

Now granted enough light to see, Draco shut the door and walked over to Hermione who was looking at herself in a mirror behind the mantle. He stood behind her, his head appearing above hers in the reflection. He smiled at her, wrapping his arms around her when she reciprocated, and she leaned against him. His smile broadened feeling how comfortable she was with him. Away from the music and the lull of dancing, Hermione seemed to reawaken, and Draco admired how the firelight reflected in her eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her reflection, and her response was to smile and look away from his eyes. 

“You should’ve seen me before the Reaping,” she replied. “My hair was a bushy mess, I had oversized teeth, and I never wore makeup.” 

“Wow, you must’ve been hideous. I’m glad I’ve only had to look at the improved you,” he joked. “Perhaps I should talk to someone about giving Fleur a raise; she must be a miracle worker.” At the mention of her stylist’s name, Hermione looked as though she remembered something. She bit her lip as though debating over something, and Draco bit back a groan. 

“Why did you ask Fleur to style my hair down?” He shouldn’t have been surprised the French beauty was unable to keep it a secret, but the question caught him off-guard. He had been grateful the stylist took his plea into consideration and spent most of dinner refraining from entangling his hands in her hair. Even while they danced, he refused to give into temptation knowing that once he finally touched the wild mane, he would be unwilling to do anything but bury his hands in it. However, once they left the ballroom, he had momentarily forgotten about his desire, the candlelight making it hard to see. 

“I thought it would’ve been obvious,” he admitted with a chuckle. 

“Fleur implied it was fairly obvious also, but I want to hear your reason.” 

“You really want to know?” Draco asked, and her reflection nodded. He turned her around, smiling inwardly at how easily she cooperated to his movements, and looked down at her. With the candle now behind her, it was more difficult to discern her facial expression, but her body was still comfortably relaxed in his arms. He trailed his hands up and down her arms, the sensation making her shiver, and she licked her lips. “I wanted your hair down,” his voice, quiet in the dark, was husky with desire and she shivered again in response, “So that when I kiss you, I can run my fingers through that beautiful mess of hair.” 

She took a small step closer to him and placed her hands on his chest; Draco wondered if she could feel his heart pounding through his shirt. His hands grasped her upper arms just below her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on her skin. One hand left her shoulder to lift her chin, and her eyes closed in anticipation. Willing himself to not screw up their first kiss, Draco bent his head to hers, their lips met, softly at first, then he gradually increased the pressure. She immediately returned the kiss and it quickly grew more heated. True to his word, Draco ran his fingers through her hair, fisting it gently as she gripped his shirt. 

He could taste the butterbeer on her lips, and he began to worry that she would think he had taken advantage of her, but the feeling of her slipping her tongue in his mouth stopped all thought processes. Vaguely, Draco thought he heard a noise, but it took Hermione freezing in his arms to realize what the sound was. The door had opened, and a couple stumbled in. Preoccupied with each other and their desperate attempt to get the other out of their clothes, Draco and Hermione had not been noticed. He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her towards the door. 

Once in the doorway, Draco used the light from the hall to discern who the intruders were: Hermione’s stylist and the eldest Weasley. He chuckled quietly seeing them suck each other’s face off, and he wondered if that’s what he and Hermione looked like. Pulling the door shut silently being them, they left the couple alone. 

Back in the light, there was a hint of awkwardness between the two of them. Anyone walking by would know instantly what they had been up to; her lips were slightly swollen, hair tangled, and her dress was wrinkled. Draco imagined he looked much the same, and he was grateful she hadn’t been wearing lipstick. He reached over to adjust her hair, hoping to ease some of the tension, and she met his eye shyly. Returning the favor, Hermione smoothed down the parts of his shirt she had grabbed. 

“We should probably get back to the Feast,” Hermione suggested. He had no idea how long it had been since they left, but their absence was sure to have been noticed. Grabbing her hand, they walked back down the hall and to the ballroom. Some people were still dancing, but Draco noticed that quite a few others were preparing to depart. Draco located a clock on the wall and discovered it was well after 9. He knew Capitol events would easily run until midnight, but tomorrow was the Tournament, and the tributes would be on their way to the arena by 4:30.

“McGonagall is probably looking for me.”

“Yeah, it’s getting late. Tomorrow is a big day.” Realizing just what tomorrow would entail, Draco felt overwhelmed with everything he wanted to tell Hermione before it was too late. He pulled her towards him, they were still far enough away from everyone that no one would notice them. He looked at her and felt his heart stop, she was so beautiful, and he had fallen so deep, but what really hit him was the look in her eyes as she looked at him; she was just as terrified as he was that they wouldn’t have enough time. “Listen, no matter what happens in there, just know that this is real; no matter what we have to do in there to survive, know that this, what happened tonight, was real for me.”

“It was real for me too.” Just hearing her say those words made him want to kiss her again and never let go.

“When we’re in that arena tomorrow, they’ll have supplies, weapons for us; you get what you need and then you run, I’ll find you. You get safe, with Potter and Weasley, and I’ll come for you, don’t come looking for me, it won’t be safe.” Before she could protest, he kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Hermione watched him walk away and took advantage of a moment alone before she would have to find her escort. Feeling her lips, she wondered if the tingly sensation Draco’s own lips and teeth left behind would last the remainder of the night. She hadn’t lied to Ginny when she said she’d been kissed before but in truth there had only been a few poorly stolen kisses from a muggle boy who lived down the street from her, and that had been ages ago. The way Draco kissed her had been a first, and it was far from disappointing, at least on her end. 

After a moment, she went in search of McGonagall. Once she found her escort, Hermione worried the professor would know what she had been doing, but her escort made no comment to suggest that. 

“Shall we find John and retire for the night? You two have to be up early, before 4.” They found John talking to a few of the other tributes, presumably his allies, and he agreed he was ready to leave. Back at the loft, McGonagall ushered her tributes immediately to bed. In her room, Hermione undressed and let down the rest of her hair. She still remembered the feeling of Draco’s mouth against her own, but her lips no longer tingle. Everything would change tomorrow; if they were flirting it was while fighting for their lives, if an intimate moment arose, it would be after someone tried to kill them, if she was lucky enough to kiss him again, it would be filled with sorrow and regret for lost time. 

In the arena, she wouldn’t let anyone distract her, but she also wouldn’t waste what time was left. This was still her life, and she would make sure she would live it. Settling into bed, Hermione forced her mind to slow; scenarios of her death were playing on repeat, and she couldn’t help going over every spell she could think of. When she finally fell asleep, it was to the thought of Draco’s arms around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had the thought that if only purebloods are allowed to attend Hogwarts, then there would be less prejudice between the houses. However, I figured Bellatrix wouldn't waste an opportunity to bash on something that Hermione, a mudblood, would choose, hence the ridicule for choosing Gryffindor. Also, for the Mauraders, you'll notice I haven't mentioned Peter. I have nothing against him as a character, it actually bothers me when people don't include him. With that said, this is my reasoning for not writing him. It isn't stated whether Peter is a pureblood or not. His mother was a witch, that much we know, but otherwise his blood status isn't stated. So I figured he wouldn't have necessarily attended Hogwarts, and if he had it's very unlikely he would've survived the Tournament if reaped, so it wouldn't make sense for him to be a Victor. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think and I'll try to be faster with this next chapter


	11. The Arena

Two weeks since the Reaping, Hermione lay awake in her bed contemplating the day. Her sleep had been interrupted every hour with anxious thoughts and hart-clenching dead. It was a quarter after three, and she needed to get ready for the day. The tributes were required to be at their intended destination by 4:30, meaning they would leave their loft at 4 o’clock sharp. McGonagall had already knocked on her door twice, and each time Hermione assured her escort that she was awake; by the time McGonagall returned for a third knock, she would be expected to be out of bed and dressed. Letting out a groan, Hermione dragged herself out of bed. 

In the closet, curtesy of Fleur, was her arena attire. Similar to standard dress robes, they consisted of a few modifications better suited for the Tournament. The fabric was of thick, sturdy material, and Hermione suspected it would do well to keep her warm at night. Along with her robes, she was also granted black pants, a white buttoned-up shirt, and black running shoes. By the time there was another knock on her door, all that was left was her hair, a feat not easily accomplished. 

“Hermione? Are you decent?” Surprised to hear her escort’s voice, Hermione affirmed she was dressed and welcomed Tonks into her room. “We’ll be heading out soon, are you ready to go?” 

“Almost,” Hermione answered. “If only Fleur was here to help me with my hair.”

“Pretty soon, you won’t be worried about your hair,” Tonks assured her. “There’ll be more important things on your mind.”

“Well of course there will be, there already is, but it’ll be easier to focus on those things if my hair wasn’t in the way.”

“Here, let me see what I can do.” Tonks helped her pull back her hair into a bun on top of her head; it was messy, and curls stuck out in every which direction, but it would have to suffice. As Tonks said, soon there would be bigger issues than her uncontrollable hair. Now ready to leave, Hermione left her temporary bedroom for the last time. In the living room, McGonagall and John stood waiting. It was 4 o’clock and time to leave the loft. A car was waiting for them outside, and a muggle driver would take them to their transportation to the arena. 

Normally reserved, John was the most sociable Hermione had seen him. The entire car ride, twenty minutes worth, he wondered aloud to how they would get to the arena. 

“Do you think we’ll take a plane? My dad says muggles use planes in other countries all the time. Maybe we’ll take one of those. Or a boat; we could be heading towards the Thames where there’s a ship to take us to an island and that’s what the arena is, just an entire island. Wouldn’t that be something?” Hermione sat listening to the young teen’s speculations in silence; the secret she learned from Crouch would be revealed to the other tributes shortly, and she didn’t trust herself to feign ignorance. Tonks chose not to respond to any of her tributes questions either, instead she talked of the Capitol. 

“The majority of the population is actually the muggles who live here to support the lifestyles of the witches and wizards who live here. The muggles are the main workforce, besides the ministry of course, and they are compensated well enough, at least compared to the muggles in the districts.”

“You’d think there would be more muggle technology then since there are so many of them living here.” Hermione pointed out. 

“I think the ministry worries about them feeling too comfortable. Even the technology you see in the districts in nothing compared to the rest of the world. It’s also important that the tributes not be too reliant on the muggle world; you won’t find any of their technology in the arena.” Hermione listened disinterested, they would be there any minute and then she’d have to begin strategizing. 

The car began to slow and pull over. Hermione didn’t bother looking out the window; she knew where they were. 

“What is this place? It looks like a train station, so does that mean we’re taking a train to the arena?” Ignoring his questions, McGonagall urged everyone out of the car and together they entered the station. There were people crowded inside: tributes, escorts, mentors, and ministry officials. McGonagall steered her group towards one of the platforms where a train was stationed, ready to depart. 

For a time, trains were heavily relied on to move muggles around the country. However, after the districts were set up, there became less of a need for them. In fact, there was only one train that ran regularly. As they neared the platform, and the train came into view, Hermione wondered if she should pretend to be surprised, or perhaps everyone would be so distracted by their own confusion, they would fail to notice she didn’t sport the same look. 

“I don’t get it,” John admitted. “This is the Hogwarts Express. I thought it only ran from London to Hogwarts, so why would it take us to the arena?” Hermione looked at John, really looked at him for the first time that day. He seemed younger than he actually was, and she felt her eyes water at the thought of everything he would miss out on in life, all because his name was chosen at the Reaping. 

“The Hogwarts Express takes us to the arena,” Hermione explained, “Because, even though we are muggle-born, we deserve the right to prove that we are witches and wizards and therefore we should be allowed to attend Hogwarts, even if just for a few short weeks.” Her voice broke a little at the thought, more out of frustration than sorrow. She watched the realization dawn on John’s face, and Tonks wrapped an arm around her, patting her shoulder reassuringly. 

“Obviously,” McGonagall explained, “The purebloods who have attended Hogwarts will have this upper hand; for you two, this is a whole new experience, you’ve never stepped foot on Hogwarts grounds. However, in the initial start of the Tournament the tributes are supposed to be disoriented in order to even the playing field so the speak. It’s important that you spend your journey to the school coming up with a solid plan with your allies for when the Tournament start, and then you stick with it.” 

“I’ll be taking the journey with you,” Tonks told them. “And I’ll be there to answer any questions and offer any last-minute advice you’ll need, but like McGonagall said, this is the time to talk to your allies. It’s a long trip, use the time wisely.” 

“Oh, look at the time,” McGonagall observed. “You three best get on the train, it’ll be leaving in just a few minutes.” She looked at each of them sternly, “I want to hear that both of you tried your best, do you hear me? No tricks, no turning on your allies, you two are good people, and I won’t allow the Tournament to change that.” Their escort hugged John and her, and Hermione wondered if it was just the light or if there were tears in the woman’s eyes. “I know you two can do this,” McGonagall encouraged them. Turning to Hermione she added, “Prove to them that I was right about you.” 

Before Hermione could respond, a whistle blew, and Hermione turned to see that, while they talked, the majority of the tributes and their mentors had already boarded the train. They were among the few left, and Tonks ushered them on board. The train began moving only a minute later.

She pulled them down train past compartments until they were nearly at the back of the train. “Here is our compartment, this is where you’ll stay until we arrive at the school. If you wish to see any of your allies, the compartments are in order of districts with 11 on your left and 9 to the right. I’ll mostly be near the front of the train where I’ll be talking to other mentors, but if you need me I should be back when they serve breakfast.”

“What time will we be arriving?” Hermione asked. 

“A little after one,” Tonks answered. “Like I said, it’s a long trip, for now you two should see if you can get any sleep. The breakfast cart should be by at 7, and a couple hours sleep would do you both well.” With that, she left them to settle in to their sanctioned place. The benches were just long enough, that Hermione found she could lay down comfortably, and John laid down on the other. He hadn’t said a word since realizing what the arena was. He seemed to be lost in thought, and Hermione wondered if she should ask him about it or if they had reverted back to their monosyllable conversations. As she opened her mouth to ask what he was thinking about, he answered her question with one of his own.

“The day of the exam, you were going to read that book instead of the potions one, weren’t you?” She blanched at the realizing what he had figured out. Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his side and faced her. “You knew about the arena, didn’t you? Why else would you read ‘Hogwarts: A History’, right before an exam that wouldn’t ask anything about it? How did you know? Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, I know we’re not exactly allies, but how many times have you read that book? And you always hang around that squib that works there, so you probably know everything there is to know about Hogwarts without ever stepping foot there and you couldn’t even tell me so that I could read the book myself?”

It was the most she had heard John talk and she wasn’t happy he chose this to be the topic he wanted to discuss. There was no way for her to answer his questions truthfully without breaking her promise to Crouch. He would just have to settle for a portion of the truth.

“I can’t tell you who told me, only that I didn’t find out until the day before the exams, and I swore not to tell anyone else.” He opened his mouth to object, but she cut him off. “They make Victors and escorts make an Unbreakable Vow to never tell anyone. If somebody found out this person knew and could talk about it, they’d probably be killed, and I won’t be responsible for that. I wanted to talk to somebody about it, and now that everyone knows, I can tell you everything I know about Hogwarts.” 

He contemplated her apology and offer for a couple minutes. Eventually he answered, “Fine, but after we get some sleep.” And without another word, John rolled over and ended the conversation. Hermione hoped they’d have enough time to get through this issue, she hated the idea of him going into that arena mad at her. She wrapped her robes around her as a blanket and forced her mind to relax enough to get some sleep. Her eyes drifted close and immediately opened to the sound of someone outside their compartment. She looked over at John and saw he was sprawled across the bench, and she realized she had fallen asleep and slept for who knows how long. The door to the compartment opened and it revealed a woman pushing a cart. 

“Anything from the trolley?” She asked. The trolley offered a variety of food: bagels, muffins, fruits, and a variety of juices. She nudged John awake and they selected a few food items from the cart. Knowing this would probably be one of the last meals just freely given to her, Hermione had hoped to eat a bit more, but her appetite had disappeared. John, she saw, was also struggling with eating a decent sized portion of anything. They ate what they could in silence, and Hermione wondered how best to broach the subject of what she knew. Finally, she decided just to out with it; Tonks would be back any minute and it would be for the best she missed this conversation. 

“When I met Filch, I was 11, had just received my wand, and I wanted to know what Hogwarts was like. At first he scared me, said it didn’t matter what it looked like because I would never see it anyway. I guess he probably knows about the arena also, probably why he can’t stay there over the summer, and that’s why he didn’t want me to know anything. But after weeks of pestering him, he finally gave in. He started with describing the castle and the grounds. There’s a lake, a forest, a quidditch field, and a road that leads to Hogsmeade.” She described the layout of the grounds, wishing she had paper to sketch it out on. “Over time he started to tell me about the inside of the castle, but that’s when it got confusing. There’s 7 stories, 142 staircases, several towers, and innumerable classrooms. It takes the students years to find their way through the school and many never venture to every part of the school even by the time they finish their 7th year.” She told John everything she could think of about Hogwarts. Most of the information in Hogwarts: A History was focused on the founders, supposed secrets about Hogwarts, and rules about Hogwarts, such as Muggle technology doesn’t operate there, and one cannot apparate or dissaparate while on the grounds. 

John paid rapt attention to everything she was saying, and Hermione wondered if she should be talking to Ron and Harry about this. Ron would know his way around the school having been a student there until his fourth year, but would he know that there are secret passage ways in and out of the school? Would Harry’s father and Ron’s brothers be talking to them about everything they knew? As she finished her lesson, and Tonks still had yet to arrive, Hermione suggested seeking out their allies. 

“I would like to see what Harry and Ron know, and you should go talk to your allies. Tonks is obviously busy with whatever she was doing, and she can come find us when she’s done.” John agreed and together they set out to find their allies. In the compartment for district 8, Hermione only found Lavender Brown and the boy from 9, apparently, they had formed an alliance. Hermione thought back to the interviews and remembered he had scored a 7, the same as Lavender. Clearly, they felt they would be stronger in numbers. Outside the compartment for district 7, Hermione left John and she continued on to District 5’s compartment, where she found Harry, Ron, and Ginny. 

“We were just going to come find you,” Ginny told her. “Ron and I were telling Harry everything we remember from Hogwarts. Which isn’t much,” she admitted. Ginny had only attended until her second year and that had been three years ago. “But we figured it was better than nothing.” Hermione agreed and told them that she had some information herself, courtesy of Argus Filch. 

“You mean you talked to Filch? Willingly? And he didn’t threaten to kill you?” Ron asked astounded. 

“He’s not that bad,” Hermione argued. 

“You’re right, he’s worse. He was always walking around with his dumb cat, yelling at everyone and threatening detention. Not that the faculty paid much attention to him.” 

“Mrs. Norris is not dumb. She’s actually very affectionate if you get to know her.” Ron looked aghast and mumbled under his breath something about ‘being mental’. Ignoring him, Hermione turned to Harry. “Has your father told you anything about Hogwarts, that we should know?” 

“Well, always told me stories of his time there, but because of the Vow, he never got too specific. Now though, I’m sure he’ll give us more details of the school,” Harry answered with a shrug. He hadn’t met her eyes when answering, and Hermione suspected he was keeping something from them. Not wanting to press him too much, she tried to ask him more about it. 

“Is he going to come in here and talk about it?” 

“He’s talking to Sirius and Lupin about something but maybe later. I don’t know what he all remembers from his time there. I mean it was almost 20 years ago, so I don’t know if it’ll be that much help.”

“But he won the Tournament,” Hermione pointed out. “So, he must know something.” She hadn’t forgotten Filch’s advice, and now it made more sense. ‘Real troublemakers they were, but somehow they know the arena more than anyone.’ Filch had meant they knew the school more than anyone, even more than him. Potter, Black, and Lupin all won the Tournament because they knew something about that school that nobody else did, something that they would make sure Harry would know. And Hermione would be damned if she didn’t find out what that was. 

“When he comes back, he’ll tell us anything he knows, but I think if he knew anything, he would’ve told me already.” Harry was trying not to get frustrated. He didn’t appreciate Hermione interrogating him like this, especially since she had a point. In fact, she was right, his father did know something. As soon as they got on the train, his father had pulled him aside and filled in the gaps. For the last couple weeks, his father had assured him he had a plan to help him survive, to help as many people as he could survive, but they had to wait. ‘It will make sense in time’ his father promised him that first night after the Reaping. 

He had been instructed to find a few allies he trusted, and once in the arena Harry would be able to tell them what he knew. Ron was easy, he immediately felt a bond with the redhead and they were fast friends, he had already told him everything besides what his father had told that morning. Hermione was a bit trickier, she was smart and seemed trustworthy, but she came with Malfoy, and Harry didn’t know if he could trust him. He would have to wait to tell them anything until they were at the school and there was no going back. Even then, he didn’t know if he would trust Malfoy without Hermione. 

Turning back to the topic at hand, they continued talking about Hogwarts and what they knew. A paper and pen had been found they were trying to sketch a map of the grounds. It had started out fine, they all agreed the castle was the center of the map; after that they couldn’t agree on anything else. 

“I’m telling you Ron, the lake is south of the castle, and the forest is to the east.” 

“And I’m telling you Hermione, the forest is north of the castle, and the lake wraps around from the south to the east.”

“No, I definitely remember the road to Hogsmeade was north of the school,” Ginny interjected. Harry watched this all disinterested; he figured Hermione was probably right, but he wouldn’t accuse Ron of being wrong. 

“Yes, Hogsmeade is north, and the entrance to the school is on the west,” Hermione added drawing an X to mark the entrance to the school. 

“You’d think the person that actually attended Hogwarts would know more than someone who didn’t.” Distracted by the argument, nobody had noticed the door to the compartment open and Malfoy walk in. He stood there smirking down at them, and Harry remembered why he wasn’t keen on trusting the pureblood. “As somebody that actually completed seven years there, perhaps I can be of assistance.” Ron made a sound of protest, but Harry waved him off; he wanted this argument settled, so they could get back to strategizing. Malfoy entered the compartment and sat next to Hermione who, for reasons unknown to Harry, began blushing. Malfoy seemed oblivious as he looked over their map.

“Granger’s correct for the most part, the greenhouses are over here, and I don’t think the forest spans that far southeast. Otherwise, it looks good. Now that that’s settled, what’s the plan?” He looked directly at Harry, and he realized he didn’t have a plan formed. His father had instructed him where to go, but he couldn’t say the specific location without everyone getting suspicious he wasn’t telling them everything. 

“Er I guess the goal is to get to the castle, there we’ll have resources and area to fortify.” 

“That’s good enough for me for right now,” Malfoy told him. “So here,” he gestured to the bottom of the map, south of the lake, “is where the train stops. First years take boats across the lake, while everyone else takes carriages down this road around,” his finger traced the path, “to the north entrance to the grounds and then this road to the west entrance to the school. Ideally, we get off this train and have the means to get to the grounds by the road.”

“What about the lake?” Ginny asked. “If there’s boats shouldn’t we try that route?”

“I forget you only made it to your second year, so you wouldn’t know what that lake holds. The first years make it safely across the lake because it’s the first day of term, and Dumbledore is there. Without him, we would have no protection against the occupants of the lake.” 

“What’s in the lake?” Harry asked; he knew about the squid, but it was his understanding that the beast was friendly. Instead of answering, Malfoy turned to Hermione and let her answer. 

“Merpeople and grindylows,” she answered immediately. 

“Which is why, I suggest the road if at all possible.”

“McGonagall said they disorient the tributes when the Tournament starts,” Hermione said, “So I think it’s safe to assume that we aren’t just let off the train and given our wands.” Turning to Malfoy, “You said they’ll have supplies and weapons for us; what did you mean?”

“Bella says it’s a cornucopia of sorts, just a bunch of stuff we’ll need right there, but there’s muggle weapons too, so that’s where a lot of people die.”

“Maybe that’s what McGonagall was referring to. The tournament starts, and everyone tries to get what they need and then the killing starts, and suddenly it doesn’t matter if you’ve been to Hogwarts before; in that kind of atmosphere, nobody is going to pay attention to where they’re going, just as long as they get away.” She finished grimly, and Malfoy put his arm around her. Harry wondered what was going on between the two of them; they had been flirting from day 1, but this was more, this was affection and friendship. 

“If there’s supplies then we should focus on getting what we need,” Ron suggested.

“It’ll be dangerous,” Hermione cautioned. 

“We’re about to enter an arena where everyone will be trying to kill us,” he pointed out. “I think a little more danger is worth it.” 

“I agree with Ron,” Harry said. “At least a few of us should stay and fight for some supplies while the others make a run for it. What do you think?” He directed his question towards Malfoy and Hermione, but it was the former who answered. 

“Surprisingly, I agree with you two. The three of us will stay and fight for what we need, Granger and Little Red will make for cover; we’ll need to decide on a place to meet.”

“That’s good,” Ron agreed. “The girls would be better off hiding somewhere.”

“I didn’t suggest they hide because of their sex,” Malfoy responded coolly. “I know Granger would be better suited finding a way to the castle, seeing how she knows the layout better than you. As for your sister, I only suggested her, because I figured you’d be too distracted about her safety to actually defend yourself if she was there. And not everyone will stay and fight; others will follow the stragglers, and I hate the idea of Granger out there alone without her wand.”

His arm was still around her, and Harry noticed her hand had found it’s way to his knee. He was starting to get annoyed with them; they were in a tournament where the objective was to not die, and here they were making heart eyes at each other. Harry hoped their blossoming love wasn’t going to get in the way of his father’s plan. 

They continued talking of strategy-when they would make camp, how they would eat, what to do if they saw another tribute who didn’t attack them immediately-and by 11 o’clock they had reached an agreement on almost everything, anything else they would just figure out when they were in the arena. Tonks had come and check on Hermione a couple times throughout the morning, the first to apologize for missing breakfast. 

She had explained it was because Bill and Charlie had insisted they eat with her, but that hadn’t been entirely true. Tonks had spent most of the train ride meeting with the other mentors whose tributes were allied with Hermione. There were the Weasleys, James, Sirius, and her Aunt Bella. The Weasleys agreed Hermione was Ron and Ginny’s best chance for survival, and they agreed to pool their sponsors towards her best interests. 

James an Sirius were stubbornly refusing to talk candidly with her because, as Lupin pointed out to them, she wasn’t being open with them about everything. James insisted his son knew what to do and would help Hermione as long as he trusted her. Sirius admitted his tributes didn’t know what Harry did, but that he had faith in them as long as they stuck together and were granted sponsorship. 

Bellatrix was difficult. She thought it was cute her niece had chosen to mentor the muggle-borns, and she doubted Hermione would survive the first week. ‘Her arrogance will be the death of her’ she had said confident that Theo or some other pureblood would kill her with their bare hands. She tried to reason with her relative, but it was useless. She would make no effort to get sponsors for her nephew and especially not for a mudblood. 

By the time the trolley began its rounds for lunch, she was exhausted and frustrated. She had one job and that was to get Hermione into Hogwarts, and then Dumbledore would do the rest, but at this rate, she couldn’t even guarantee she could get her tribute across the grounds. She sulked back to the compartment to find Hermione and Draco there. They seemed to be having a private moment but as soon as she opened the door, they pulled back and composed themselves. 

“Draco,” she said pleasantly, making it obvious she knew what they had been doing. “Are you joining us for lunch?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” She sat across from them and waited patiently for the trolley to reach their side of the train. She had passed it on her way back there, but it had only reached District 3’s compartment by then. She studied the young couple while they waited, not bothering to be inconspicuous about it. Neither wore their robes, and Draco’s white buttoned up shirt was crinkled. Hermione’s already messy hair seemed to be even messier and her lips were pinker. While they had put distance between themselves when she entered, they had slowly been gravitating towards each other, so that by the time the trolley arrived, their legs brushed against each other’s and Hermione leaned against him. They weren’t quite holding hands, but their fingers wrapped loosely together gave the impression that was what they wanted to do. She looked at them fondly and sent a prayer to whoever was listening that some miracle would grant them happiness and a chance to grow old together. 

For lunch they were given sandwiches, and the food eased the tension. Tonks asked how planning had been with the other allies. 

“It went well, I think,” Hermione answered. “We have a pretty solid plan, but who knows what’ll happen once the Tournament starts. I just hope there aren’t too many surprises in there.” Tonks choked on her bite as she struggled not to laugh. It was cruel to find it humorous, but Hermione was hoping for too much.

“You ok Dora? Did you forget how to swallow?” 

“I’m fine,” she managed to choke out as she caught her breath. “Too big of a bite I guess.”

“Bite off more than you can chew huh?” Draco joked, but Tonks could see something in his suggesting he was being serious. Shaking off the suspicion that Draco knew something, Tonks turned the conversation back to the arena. She answered questions Hermione had about past Tournaments, what creatures they used, and the supplies their provided. Tonks still have to be vague about some things, but for the most part they had a fair idea about what they would be facing. 

Draco had been quiet for the rest of lunch, eyeing Tonks curiously. He had thought his cousin had been weird these last couple weeks, but he had been shrugging it off as her secret relationship with the Weasley, but now he suspected there was more to it. Having finished her food, Tonks excused herself to the washroom. As soon as the door shut behind her, Hermione let out a chuckle. 

“That was probably the most awkward experience of my life. You think she knew what we’d been doing?”

“She’d have to be blind not to, your lips are screaming that they’ve been snogged, and I hope you didn’t spend too much time on your hair this morning, because well…” He trailed off and she playfully shoved him before pulling him closer. He sighed and pulled away. “As much as I would love to utilize this time alone, there’s something I have to go check on.” He pecked her on the cheek before standing. “I’ll be back shortly.” 

Outside the compartment, he wondered which way his cousin had gone. Taking a guess, he continued to the back of the train where there were a couple empty compartments. By chance, he found her in one by herself. She was pacing back and forth, so lost in thought she didn’t hear him enter. 

“Something on your mind?” he asked startling her. 

“Oh! What are you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“If you must know, I’m waiting for Charlie, he’s supposed to meet me here for a quick rendezvous.” If Draco had learned anything in his life, it’s that nobody admits to doing something they’re not supposed to unless they’re hiding something worse. 

“Right, well I hope you don’t mind if I wait here with you.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted you and Hermione, but that doesn’t mean you get to kill the mood for me,” she said guessing his intention. 

“Actually, I was hoping we could use this time for you to tell me what it is you’ve been up to.” He stared her down and refused to break. She returned the glare, and for a few minutes they stood like that. If Charlie, or someone was coming to meet her, they would have to wait until Draco got what he needed. Realizing this, Tonks sighed and gave in.

“Fine, I’ll tell you, but only because you are family. You can’t tell Hermione, promise me.”

“No, I won’t keep secrets from her, if it concerns her then I’m telling her.”

“Then I can’t tell you everything, just know that something big is happening. Something huge.” She made a motion with her arms to demonstrate how large. Finally able to talk about it, Tonks seemed overcome with the gravity of the situation. “And nobody knows everything, not even me, so don’t ask me anything about it, but here’s the gist: whatever happens in that arena, you have to make sure Hermione gets to the Headmaster’s office. It’s absolutely crucial she gets there and then everything will make sense.” 

Draco stared at her incredulously. Either his cousin had gone insane, or she was privy to treason. Either way, he wanted no part or it and definitely didn’t want Hermione sucked into it. “So Hermione doesn’t know anything?”

“No, we were instructed not to tell her anything, it would ruin the whole thing. She’ll know only when it is crucial for her to know, not before,” she stated this as though it was something said to her and she had to repeat it over and over. 

“Right, well if you want her to get to the headmaster’s office, then I guess that’s where we’re going,” he said sardonically turning to leave. 

“Draco please, you have to believe me. Or don’t, but trust that I have every intention of keeping Hermione alive, and that means getting her to the Headmaster’s office.” Draco chose not to make a reply. His cousin wasn’t one to entertain ridiculous fantasies, but to believe that she had become part of a conspiracy, one that revolved around Hermione at that, was impossible. Refusing to say anything more on the subject, he bid his cousin farewell and left the room. 

On his way back to Hermione’s compartment, he passed by an older gentleman, one of the other mentors. Draco racked his brain for the man’s name, but could not recall it. He realized the man had exited the compartment for District 11, and he tried to remember if he was their mentor. Slipping back into Hermione’s compartment, he was relieved to see her still alone. She was studying the map they had drawn together of the grounds of Hogwarts. He expected her to continue studying anything available to her until mere moments before the Tournament were to start. 

She glanced up as he entered and with a smile she directed her attention back to the paper. 

“Hagrid’s hut is on the edge of the forest, right? Near the quidditch pitch?” 

“Yes, though I’ve never been there myself.” He sat next to her and delighted in her absent-mindedly taking his hand. He lifted their joined hands and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “It’s a cute little thing considering how large he is.” 

“I look forward to seeing it, all things considered.” They sat in silence for a few moments. “It really is cruel,” Hermione finally said. “I’ve dreamed of seeing Hogwarts since I first learned about it. I remember finally getting my wand and wishing desperately that they’d change to rules and I could go to a real school. There was even a brief time when I wished I had been adopted and my real parents weren’t muggles, and one day the ministry would realize that, and I be sent to Hogwarts that very same day.

“Now here I am, getting my wish, and I have no choice but to view the experience as a death sentence. For a couple weeks I get to enjoy this magical place, but I’ll be fighting for my life, running and hiding, watching people, children, die all around me. I get to finally be a real witch, but I’ll become a murderer in the process.” Though her voice hadn’t broken, and she didn’t shed any tears, Draco could sense how close she was to breaking. He wrapped his arms around her and held her as she shook. The train would be arriving in less than a couple hours and if there was ever a time to let the force of what was to come hit you, now was the perfect time, Draco mused to himself. 

They sat like that for an unknown amount of time. Eventually, Hermione’s lips found his and they sought solace in each other’s pleasure. She wanted to study his mouth, to learn what he liked, and what he loved. Being an insufferable know-it-all seemed to extend beyond books and school; she was determined to be the best snog Draco ever had. Clearly, he seemed to like snogging her, for it didn’t take long for his breath to grow ragged, and he pulled her on top of which she eagerly obliged. 

Draco grasped her hips and she snaked her fingers through his hair. Desperately trying to get closer to each other, they focused on nothing other than the feel of the other’s body against their own. Hermione whimpered in protest when Draco pulled his mouth off of hers, a sound that quickly morphed into one of desire as his mouth began attacking her jaw and neck. Vaguely, she wondered if his actions would result in markings, a visible reminder to her and anyone else who saw them that her heart had been claimed, so unexpectedly, by Draco Malfoy. 

…

It was one o’clock, and everyone could feel the tension on the train; they would be arriving at the arena in about 15 minutes, at which time, they would be escorted off the train, giving final instructions, and then the Tournament would officially begin. Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch Sr. would be there to see them all off, along with a few other members of the board who were aware of the secret of the arena. 

Hermione and Draco had spent the remainder of the train ride enjoying each other’s company not knowing how long it would be until the two of them would have a moment alone again. When Tonks had returned to the compartment it was to find Hermione on the bench with Draco above her, his hands inching up her shirt, mouths glued together. She would’ve let them be, but they needed to know how close they were to the school, and therefore to the start of the Tournament. 

After Hermione’s face faded to a light pink and Draco’s scowl eased a bit, she let them know they were approaching the school. There wasn’t much to do to prepare, other than accept the crushing weight of what was to come. John came back to the compartment after having spent almost the entirety of the trip with his allies, and Draco excused himself to return to his aunt. Hermione followed him out of the compartment, trying her best to maintain a strong face. 

“So, I guess I’ll see you later?” He chuckled weakly at her attempt at lightheartedness before pulling her against him. She rested her head on his chest and he buried his face in her mostly unraveled hair. “Promise me you’ll be ok,” he begged her in a small voice. “Swear that I won’t have to watch you die, that I won’t be able to protect you. Vow to me that you’ll win in this Tournament, so I won’t have to imagine a world without you.”

“You know I can’t do that Draco.” Her voice was muffled against his chest, but he could still hear her voice holding back sobs. “Even if I win, how am I supposed to survive this? I’ll have witnessed death, murder, committed it myself, and then afterwards I’ll be alone; how would I endure that without you?” 

“You’re strong Hermione, you can do this.” He told her, forcing himself to believe it. He would never doubt her intelligence, not after everything she proved she could do, but if he was honest with himself, Draco would admit he dreaded her reaction to the first time tried to hurt her, or the first time she’d have to hurt someone to save herself. If there was anything he doubted she could do, it was become a killer. The Tournament wouldn’t turn her into a monster like so many others, but it could very well destroy her. 

Pulling back, he looked at her. Her eyes were puffy, her nose red from crying, her hair frizzy and growing larger by the minute. She was enchanting. “Remember the plan, you grab whatever is nearest and then run. I’ll get whatever you need, even if it’s your wand, I’ll get it. You just get out of there and get somewhere safe with Ginny. Meet up with Longbottom and Lovegood if you see them, and then I’ll come find you.” He kissed her again, desperate to seal his promise, and then turned to leave, knowing that if he looked at her again he probably wouldn’t be able to walk away. 

Hermione made her best effort to pull herself back together and then reentered her compartment. Tonks and John looked up as she entered her, and she grimaced at their sympathetic looks. Sitting next to John she forced Draco from her mind. 

“So how do we do this?” 

“Once we arrive, we’ll exit the train by district, you’ll be blindfolded and positioned in place. Ludo will hold a congratulatory speech, wish you all good luck, and then it begins.” 

“That’s it?” John asked. “I thought it’d be a bit more exciting.”

“Believe me, it’ll get exciting.” Tonks assured him. “Until then, we still have a few minutes, which means I have time to fix your hair.” She stood over Hermione and unraveled what was left of her bun. “Merlin Hermione, if this is how bad your hair gets while just riding the train, imagine how awful it’ll be by the end of this.” Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at Tonks’s attempt at humor; even John could probably tell what exactly caused her hair to look like this, and he hadn’t been the one to walk in on them. “There, much better. Now you’ll be able to see who’s-.” The train lurched to a stop cutting her off. A voice echoed throughout the train, and Hermione recognized it as Ludo’s.

“Welcome tributes to the 84th Wizards Tournament. In a few moments, somebody will come to collect you to exit the train. Please follow all instructions they give you.” Hermione leaned back in her seat. This was it, she told herself, it was officially happening. They sat in silence, each of them stuck in their thoughts of what was to come, and none of them stirred when there was a knock on the door. Hermione kept her eyes on the wall above her mentor’s head when the door opened. 

“You’re not going to win the Tournament just sitting there, y’know?” The familiar voice caught Hermione’s attention and she turned to see Barty Crouch Jr standing in the doorway to the compartment. He was smiling down at her and she felt herself smile in return. She didn’t know anything about this guy other than the fact that he liked to disappoint his father, but he had stuck out his neck for her, trusted she wouldn’t betray him, and given her hope. Taking a breath, she stood from the bench and followed him out of the compartment. He offered his arm and she took it gratefully; seeing him had given her strength to stand, but she didn’t know how long that would last. 

He escorted her off the train filling the silence with small talk about the weather. Stepping off the train Hermione almost closed her eyes to the blinding sun. Like Barty said, it was beautiful outside, clear skies, no chance of rain. Directly outside the train, all Hermione could see were trees. Thinking back to the map, she determined that gap there led to the lake where the boats take the first years, which meant the road to the west entrance was through that way. 

“Don’t bother figure out which way is which, my dear. You’ll all get turned around in a few minutes. Now for the fun part.” He pulled a cloth from his pocket and flashed Hermione a cheeky grin. He turned her around, so he was behind her and wrapped the blindfold around her eyes. She knew there was a spell that could achieve this same effect, but she figured she’d humor him. Once the blindfold was secure he offered his arm again and she took it eagerly. 

“Alright, we’re going to walk a bit of a ways, just hold on to me and I won’t let you fall.” As they walked he continued to fill the silence, talking about his day. “I slept in a bit, ate some breakfast and then read this book I’ve had for ages. Are you familiar with Shakespeare?”

“Of course I am.”

“Oh good, then you’ve read Romeo and Juliet? I had just gotten to the point where Paris tries to stop Romeo and they duel, and then Paris’s last words are some rubbish like ‘lay me at my beloved’s tomb’ and Romeo just leaves him there, real romantic moment, and I realized I’d missed the portkey here! Most of us took those to get here what with apparating not being an option here at Hogwarts, but luckily, I knew there was a fireplace at the Hog’s Head, a pub just up in Hogsmeade. After taking the Floo, it was just a short walk over here. Isn’t that something?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Hermione wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say to that. They had walked for a about five minutes and she had no idea which way thy had gone, nor had they even gone in a straight line. It almost felt like they had zigzagged a bit. 

“Listen Hermione, I have a confession to make.” They came to a stop and he dropped her arm. He grabbed her shoulders firmly, and Hermione jumped at the sudden contact. “I practically begged my father to let me come here today, I don’t normally participate in this part of the Tournament, but I had to see you. I know there’s a bit of an age difference, but I think we can make it work.” Hermione wished she could see his face, so she would see if he was joking or not.

“Um, I’m flattered? But I don’t even think I’ll survive the Tournament, so there’s not much to work out.” 

“Nonsense,” He leaned towards her and she felt his breath on her face. “As long as you’re smart, you’ll win.” His face came even closer to hers and she felt his stubbly cheek brush hers as he brought his lips to her ear. To anyone watching they would appear as though lovers, and Hermione pleaded with Merlin that Draco had his blindfold on. She tried to step back but he held her shoulders hard. “Whatever you do,” he whispered in her ear, “Get supplies and get your wand. No matter what you promised your boyfriend, you get your wand yourself. Trust me.” Realizing that Crouch was risking his life for her again, Hermione stopped struggling against his grasp. 

“Why?” She whispered back.

“Just do what I tell you to, and you’ll thank me.”

“No, I mean why are you helping me?”

“Like I said, my father would hate to see a Muggle-born as Victor.” He finally pulled back and released her shoulders. “You’re right,” he said aloud, “It would never work out between us. I’m just too charming, you’ll never be able to think straight around me.” 

“Attention tributes, it’s almost time to start this year’s tournament.” Ludo’s voice surrounded them. “Once your escort has placed you in your spot, do not move. Anyone who tries to get an early start will be killed without warning.” 

“Well that’s my cue to go,” Crouch told her. “Stay where you are and don’t die. I’ll see you when this is all over, we’ll get drinks at the Hog’s Head.” Hermione heard him walk away and suddenly she was alone. She knew the other tributes would be in similar positions, probably nearby but it didn’t feel like that. It felt as though she was the only one there, and she yearned for Ludo’s voice just to let her know someone else was there. After a minute, he spoke again.

“And now, for the moment we’ve been waiting for. In a moment your blindfolds will disappear but remain where you are. The Tournament will commence in 60 seconds, beginning now, and will end only when one tribute remains. Now, feast your eyes on your competition.” The blindfold disappeared from Hermione’s face and again she was blinded by the light. As her vision returned, she made sense of her surroundings. The other tributes were fanned out before her in a circle, the boy from 9 on her right and the boy from 11 on her left. She saw Ron about a quarter of the circle to the right, and Ginny in the same position but on her left. She couldn’t see Draco or Harry though, but that would most likely be because of the giant pile of stuff directly in the middle of the circle. Looking around, she saw the train was behind Ginny, meaning that was north and the way to the school. 

“Here’s how it goes, tributes. Anything you may need here in the arena is right here in front of you. Directly on the other side of those supplies is your fellow tribute from your District, and behind them is your wand. If you want it, you must cross the circle, where you should take advantage of the supplies we are gracious enough to provide. It is strongly recommended that you get what you need from the circle before getting your wand, you never know what you’ll find and lose out on because someone else beat you to it. Also, we urge you all to only take your wand, not your allies, not your enemies, only yours.” 

Hermione realized what Crouch had encouraged her to do, get supplies and get her wand, but Draco’s voice kept urging her to run towards the school as they agree. She looked to Ginny who was watching her curiously. She nodded towards the school, but Ginny shook her head. They were nothing without their wand and Hermione shouldn’t trust Draco’s ability to secure both hers and his. 

“15 seconds tributes,” Ludo’s voice told them, and Hermione prepared herself to run. Try as she might, she could no longer ignore the eyes boring into her skull; she turned and met Theo’s eyes, the promise clear no matter how far apart they were. He would be coming for her, maybe not right away, but sooner or later, he would hunt her.

“5…4…3…2…” Hermione looked straight ahead, forced herself to focus, and the tournament began.


	12. Day 1

Part 2

A canon sounded, and Hermione ran like she had never ran before, and she wasn’t the only one. All around her, she caught flashes of bodies pass her as the other tributes desperately sought their destination, for some it was the supplies, others their wands, and for a few, it was as far away from everyone as they could get. In the flurry, she couldn’t make out anyone’s faces, she wouldn’t take the time to look either. It was farther to the supplies than she thought, and she was still about a dozen yards away from the loot. As she neared, she was able to distinguish what sort of gear they were granted. Backpacks of various sizes laid about the ground, larger boxes were piled high, and miscellaneous muggle weapons were in the open, ready to be taken and used.

 

Slowing her run, but refusing to stop completely, Hermione grabbed a backpack and slung it over her shoulder. It was heavier than she suspected and the blow on her back made her stumble. Barely catching herself, she landed on her hands rather than her face and noticed a sizable hunting knife a few feet away from her. Hermione grasped it desperately before pushing herself to her feet. The break in her momentum forced her to take note of her surroundings. A few people were screaming, some out of fear, others from victory. Not knowing if she would need it, Hermione unsheathed the knife attaching the case to her pants. She caught a flash of red in her peripheral and she turned to see Ginny dash past her towards the bulk of the supplies.

 

She had yet to see Harry or Draco, but they would be approaching the center of the circle quickly. Eager to be anywhere but there when they did, she took off again this time around the supplies to where her wand would be. She hadn’t made it more than a few yards, when something large crashed into her. This time when she fell, she couldn’t catch herself. The weapon she held for protection suddenly became a hinderance to her safety as she landed in it and felt a searing pain in her left upper arm. Fighting off the shock and pain, she rolled into a sitting position to look at who she had collided with.

 

At first her relief in seeing it wasn’t Theo was almost enough to make her smile, but the look on Blaise Zabini’s face as he glowered down at her turned that smile into a look of horror. He was holding a knife much larger than her own, and his initial bloodlust morphed into amusement as he noted her fear.

 

“Relax Granger, I promised Malfoy I wouldn’t touch you in exchange for a favor. You don’t have to worry about me.” His tone made it clear there were plenty of other people she should be worried about. He opened his mouth to say more but a shrill scream caught his attention. Hermione watched his jaw clench and nostrils flare in fury. He was very handsome, but Hermione could only feel fear looking at him and she pitied whoever was on the receiving end of his rage.

 

He took off at a run towards the source of the scream and Hermione didn’t hesitate to get off the ground and begin sprinting. This time she made it around the stockpile without incident. Realizing she had lost her sense of direction when she collided with Blaise, she didn’t know which spot was John’s; he was long gone, and she had failed to notice if there were markers for where they stood. Keeping the train on her left, she continued to run hoping she was heading in the right direction.

 

Movement to her left revealed the boy from 9. He had a bag similar to hers, and he also seemed to have suffered a wound, although his was on his leg resulting in a hobbled run, but despite the injury, he managed to keep pace with her. Hermione briefly wondered if he would try to attack her, but it seemed he worried the same about her based on the way he kept looking over at her. Figuring nothing could happen until either of them had their wand, they continued to run.

 

Since he had been on her right on their side of the circle, and their counterparts were directly across the circle from, that would mean the girl from his district would’ve been to the left of John from Hermione’s perspective. Assuming the boy from 9 knew which way he was going, Hermione would just have to stay on his right, and she’d find her wand. Some yards in front of her, Hermione thought she could see something on the ground. As she neared, she realized it was a small, oblong box. Chancing a glance to her left, she saw the boy approaching a box as well. The box in front of her was engraved with ’10-HG’ declaring itself to be hers. She moved the knife to her left hand and clench her right, eager to carry her wand again.

 

They had both stopped when they reached their box, and now they stood there motionless, unsure what to do. Hermione wasn’t one to attack someone unprovoked, and she guessed if he was likely to do that, he would’ve grabbed his wand by then and done it. Suspecting he was thinking the same thing about her, she opened her mouth to offer a sort of truce for the moment. Nothing came out though, because the boy, apparently deciding to just get it over with, made a lunge towards his box, and Hermione mirrored the action. An instant before her hand touched her box, a shout caught her attention. She looked back towards the boy just to see he had disappeared. Her first thought was that he somehow managed to apparate, despite being too young and probably inexperienced, but their location dispelled that theory. Before she could spare another thought on the matter, the sound of people behind her reminded her of the urgency of the situation.

 

Looking over her shoulder, she saw Theo sprinting across the field towards his wand. Deciding she could contemplate what happened to the boy from 9 after she had her wand securely in her hand and was away from Theo, she reached for her box. As soon as she touched it, she felt as though her insides were yanked to the side. The world spun around her and dimly, Hermione remembered Crouch’s words to her before his phony declaration of love. ‘I realized I’d missed my portkey here, most of us took those to get here what with apparating not being an option here at Hogwarts.’ The man had tried to give her yet another hint about the Tournament; no wonder he insisted on her getting her wand herself. Draco would’ve gone for his own and then hers would be left behind.

 

Eventually she landed on the ground with a thud, and she tried adamantly not to get sick. It wouldn’t do well to begin the Tournament on an empty stomach. Once her head stopped spinning, she looked around to determine where she was. It was dark, appearing to be the middle of night, though it had just been the solar noon and clear skies seconds ago. As far as she knew, portkeys transported people instantaneously. The ground was damp and cool, and looking around, all Hermione could see were trees. Realizing the trees were blocking out the sun, hence the appearance of nightfall, Hermione relaxed a little but not much. These trees were different than the ones she saw outside the train.

 

She remembered the box in her hand and she opened it to find, with a sigh of relief, her wand. Though it had only been a couple days since she had it for her exam, she was thankful to have it back, and not just temporarily this time. Looking in the box, she also found a roll of parchment, and she unrolled it to find a short letter addressed to her.

 

Dear Miss Granger,

Congratulations on securing your wand, hopefully you took our advice and grabbed some supplies first. As you can see, you are no longer with the other tributes, but fret not, they will be joining you shortly. Welcome to the Forbidden Forest, and I hope you enjoy your stay. Here you will find perils and hardships, but if you’re lucky, you’ll also find food and your allies. From where you stand, the most direct way out the forest is WEST, although it is quite a walk. If you stay on the path, you should arrive safely, but it will take longer. Once safely out of the forest, you should be able to find your way to the castle. I hope you will join your fellow tributes in the Great Hall for a welcoming ceremony and short feast. Each night, we will commemorate the fallen, hopefully you won’t be one of them. Each of you are assigned a house-elf to monitor your progress from afar and grant you any sponsorship you receive.

Best of luck,

Ludo Bagman

 

Hermione read the letter a couple times to ensure she understood it clearly. She surmised that everyone’s portkey would transport them to the forest, but not to the exact location. Directly west would lead her out, but from what she could recall from Hogwarts: A History and her conversation with Hagrid, the forest wasn’t a place she wanted to wonder through alone. Hopefully, staying on the path would lead her to any of her allies, but it would just as likely lead her to any of the other tributes. It couldn’t be helped, so she would just deal with that once she got there.

 

Happy that she had decided on a course of action, she took stock of her situation. The adrenaline of running and the portkey had faded and now she could feel the pain in her arm from where she landed on her knife. Knowing that would have to be taken care of before anything else, she moved to a large tree just off the path behind which she wouldn’t be seen. She took off her robes and instantly bit back a groan from the pain of moving her arm. Her white sleeve was soaked with blood, the cut was surprisingly long, but thankfully not deep. Hermione opened her backpack to see what it contained, and was pleasantly surprised with what she found. An empty jar, muggle matches, bandages, a vial containing something that Hermione suspected was Polyjuice Potion, and a couple textbooks. The latter would explain why the bag was so heavy, but she wasn’t complaining. One contained various defensive and offensive spells and the other was a book on healing minor wounds and common ailments.

 

How convenient, Hermione mused to herself with a chuckle. She opened to the table of contents and flipped to a section on cuts and gashes. Skimming the section, she found a spell to clean her wound, but she didn’t feel comfortable performing a healing spell on herself. Settling for just wrapping it the muggle way, she used the bandage from her bag and redonned her robe. Putting everything back into her bag along with the box and letter from Ludo, she wondered if she should try a disillusionment charm on herself in order to hide from potential attackers, but she wasn’t confident enough she could hold the charm for very long. Settling for just being cautious, Hermione grabbed the backpack, sheathed the knife and secured it to her waistband, and stepped onto the path.

 

Looking around, she couldn’t see anyone, and at first the forest seemed silent. However, after a moment, she recognized the sounds of wildlife around her, distant but there. Deciding not to linger, she held her wand on her palm and instructed it to point her towards north. Using that as reference, she headed west as much as possible while staying on the path. Unable to see the sky, Hermione had no concept of time. It had been about 1:30 when Crouch escorted her off the train, but she had no idea how long it took for the Tournament to actually start after that or how long it took her to get to her wand, and then she had taken her time tending to her arm and deciding what to do.

 

Hermione did her best to keep time while walking, but the sounds of the forest were her only noise, besides the crunching of leaves and twigs under her feet and it lulled her into a sort of daze. Her mind wandered to her parents for the first time since the Reaping. She had refused to think about them during this whole ordeal, knowing that the pain and heartache they would be feeling was enough to break her, but now she let herself wonder. They would have been reading the prophet every day for updates on her throughout training. They would’ve watched her interview and she was sure they were proud of her 11. But now they would be awaiting her death. Every morning the Prophet would go out with an update on which tributes were still alive and those that were not. The dead would get a brief summary of how they died and after the tournament ended, the family would be given their body in a box, their few belongings, and a letter congratulating them on their child’s valiant effort.

 

Would her parents hold a funeral like some families did? Or would they mourn on their own? Depending on the tributes, their district typically held a sort of memorial for the two of them, unless the families had something else planned. Some parents didn’t bother waiting for the news; they began their mourning as soon as the Reaping ended and continued until the body returned and was buried. Would that be her parents? Or would they hold out hope, believing that her intelligence and high score could outweigh her blood status?

 

She pondered whether that was what she believed as she continued walking, stopping only occasionally to fill her jar with water from her wand. Although it had already been colder in the forest, she definitely detected it getting colder, which meant it was getting late. Knowing she would have to find some way to set up camp, Hermione continued on the path keeping her eyes peeled for a suitable area to stop. She would also have to figure out how to find food. All of the walking she had done so far was only making her hungry, and she knew she wouldn’t last another day like this without some sort of sustenance beyond water. She stopped to look at some berries, trying to decide if they looked poisonous or not, when a voice behind her made her freeze.

 

“I knew I’d find you.”

 

…

 

The canon sounded, and Theo took off, running faster than he ever had. He had instructed Astoria to stay behind him and try to keep up. He knew nobody was stupid enough to try to hurt her for fear of facing his wrath. He kept his eyes on the abundant possibilities of weapons and resources ahead of him, he would take any and everything that would make Granger’s death more gruesome. Theo had decided he wouldn’t wait to kill her, no point in dragging it out, so he would seize the first opportunity he got.

 

He would’ve guessed she would be smart and get as far away from him as possible, but he also figured she knew she wouldn’t get far without her wand. He’d get a few muggle weapons, grab his wand and catch her. A simple disarming spell, a total binding spell, and then she’d be powerless as made her bleed. Theo had taken to wondering where this bloodlust came from; he hadn’t always been this violent. Sure, he liked to get rough in the bedroom, but it had never been this intense, at least not that he knew of, maybe it was just buried deep in his subconscious, waiting for an annoying Mudblood to awaken that side of him. Now that it was awake, he knew nothing would satiate it other than killing Granger and putting Malfoy in his place.

 

He reached the heart of the bounty and assessed what was before him. Astoria was not far behind him and his other allies were also approaching. He picked up a machete from the ground and quickly grew comfortable holding it, ready to try it out.

 

“Grab a couple bags and whatever you can carry, then we’ll get our wands,” he instructed his allies.

 

The machete had a good weight and he swung it a few times to determine his level of control. From the corner of his eye, he saw the boy from 11 approaching. The guy clearly was hoping to just grab something quick before running off again, but Theo was too fast. He slashed his knife and caught the guy’s arm as he reached for a bag on the ground. The guy yelled in agony and turned to run. Theo heard screaming behind him and guessed his allies had found weapons of their own. Smiling to himself, he hurdled over a crate and grabbed the boy by his robes. He slipped his arms out but tripped and fell on the ground in front of Theo who laughed ruthlessly. Standing over the tribute, he plunged the machete into his back. The impact was jarring on his hand, and he was surprised to see that the guy didn’t die immediately. Leaving him to slowly bleed to death, he looked around for another victim.

 

He was excited to see Granger running by. She had bag slung over her shoulder and a knife in her hand, as though that would protect her. He made a step towards her, but he became distracted by the sight of the female Weasley. She was confidently running towards the pile of crates left unattended. He stepped over the body of the boy he had just killed, gripped his weapon menacingly, and sauntered over towards her. Granger could wait a few more minutes, he decided as he imagined wringing the redhead’s delicate neck.

 

He looked around as he neared the witch and appreciated how many of the tributes were trying to fight. It made it more fun for him if everyone else actually thought they stood a chance. Weasley reached the pile of crates and opened the top one. Whatever was in it made her pump her fist in the air. The idea of turning her victorious moment into the moment of her death was satisfying to Theo, and he couldn’t conceal his smile as he grabbed her by the hair. She screamed, and he responded with a laugh.

 

“Not so tough without your brothers, are you Weasley?” She squirmed against his hold, and he moved the machete against her throat successfully ending her efforts. He looked around for sign of her brother hoping he would have an audience. Unable to locate him he settled for taunting her. “Imagine how he’ll feel when he sees your dead body, knowing that he couldn’t even keep you safe long enough to realize you were already in danger. Now, how should I kill you? Slit your throat? Stab you a couple times? Maybe just break your neck with my hands?”

 

“Just as long as it’s anything other than bore me to death which is what you’re doing now.”

 

Theo gripped her hair tighter and she let out a small squeak. He would enjoy killing her, but he wanted to see your face while he did it, to watch the light drain from her eyes. Removing his blade from her throat, he spun her around to face him. Repositioning his weapon, he dragged the tip along her temple, down her cheek and to her jaw, watching as the skin broke and blood trickled down her face.

 

“How about I slit you neck to navel? Does that sound alright?” He didn’t wait for an answer, yanking her head back he situated the blade at the hollow of her neck. He imagined it would be like slicing butter, but he never got the chance to find out. A force knocked him off his feet and he hovered in the air for a moment before landing on the ground. The air was knocked out of him so severely, Theo seriously wondered if he’d ever breath again. When he finally regained some of his senses, he could see what, or rather who, hit him. He watched Weasley be helped to her feet by Zabini, and had he any breath, Theo would have roared in anger. The two grabbed a bag from the ground and filled it with whatever had been in the crate and then ran off. By the time, Theo could speak, the couple was gone, and he was ready to kill the next person he saw.

 

“Oh my gods, Theo are you ok?” Astoria appeared in front of him looking concerned.

 

“I’m fine, help me up.” She held out her hand and helped him to his feet. “Where were you?” He accused. “Where were any of you while the Weasley girl and Zabini were making me look like a fool?”

 

“I was helping Will go through the crates and bag up food, and Mary was killing the girl from 9, like you told us to.” She answered with wide eyes. “We didn’t even see what happened to you after you killed the boy from 11.” Theo tried his best not to yell, it wasn’t her fault Zabini got the jump on him. He looked around at their allies and saw they were all carrying a bag and some sort of weapon. “Can we go get our wands now?” Suddenly remembering where they were, Theo looked around and was surprised to see many of the tributes had disappeared. Either towards the lake or the road, it didn’t matter, he would find them.

 

“Yeah let’s go.” Turning to the to the others, “Go get your wands, and meet back here. We’ll take the road to the school and hopefully I can find Granger.”

 

“Granger?” Astoria asked. “She was just heading that way when I noticed you were on the ground.” She nodded to the other side of the circle, and Theo smiled in anticipation.

 

“Then let’s go.” He grabbed a bag and his machete then took off towards the muggle-born. His failure in killing the other witch would soon be rectified. He ran until his legs burned and didn’t slow even as he spotted her sitting on the ground. He kept running, keeping an eye on where she was, lest she took saw him coming. Almost as if she heard his thoughts, she looked over at him. Even from a distance, he could see the fear on her face. He watched her reach forwards, presumably for her wand, and then…nothing. Theo stumbled to a stop, barely catching himself. He heard Astoria fall as she struggled to stop as quickly as he had.

 

“She’s gone.” He said incredulously. “Where did she go?”

 

“What do you mean she’s gone? She was just there.”

 

“I know she was just there, and now she’s gone.”

 

“Did she apparate?”

 

“You know damn well she didn’t.”

 

“Then where did she go?”

 

“That’s what I want to know!” His voice was barely below a scream, and he didn’t bother concealing his frustration looking at his lover. “Do me a favor dear, and stop talking for a second.” His girlfriend pouted her lips in a way Theo once found adorable but now only annoyed him. He thought for a moment of what could cause someone to exist someplace one moment then not another.

 

“THEO!” He heard someone shouting his name, and he turned to see Will waving his arms from the middle of the circle. “MARY’S GONE! DISAPPEARED AS SOON AS SHE GRABBED HER WAND!”

 

“Her too? What’s happening?” Astoria wondered aloud.

 

“Must be the Gamemakers thinking they’re clever. Something happens when you grab your wand,” he suggested. He finished the walk to where his own wand should be and discovered there was nothing there. “Have you seen Parkinson?” Astoria answered she had not. “Portkey maybe? To take us somewhere on the grounds? Which is why they told us to only grab ours, but of course Parkinson wouldn’t listen to that.” He turned back to Will who was standing there awaiting instructions. “PORTKEY!” He shouted to him “HOLD ONTO YOUR BAG AND GET YOUR WAND, WE’LL FIND EACH OTHER.” He turned to Astoria, “We’ll take your portkey together, that way we won’t lose each other.”

 

“What about a wand for you?”

 

“I’ll just kill the next person I see and take their wand,” he answered casually. “And if that person happens to be Pansy, then serves her right for taking my wand in the first place.” She looked like she wanted to argue with him but thought better of it. Reaching out her hand, they walked to her the box containing her wand and touched the portkey together.

 

Once he recovered from their travel, Theo opened the box and took out Astoria’s wand. He contemplated holding onto it, but he figured he was better with a muggle weapon than she was, so he handed it to her for the time being. Also in the box was a note that Theo pulled out and read aloud.

 

Dear Miss Greengrass,

Congratulations on securing your wand, hopefully you took our advice and grabbed some supplies first. As you can see, you are no longer with the other tributes, but fret not, they will be joining you shortly. Welcome to the Forbidden Forest, and I hope you enjoy your stay. Here you will find perils and hardships, but if you’re lucky, you’ll also find food and your allies. From where you stand, the most direct way out the forest is WEST, although it is quite a walk. If you stay on the path, you should arrive safely, but it will take longer. Once safely out of the forest, you should be able to find your way to the castle. I hope you will join your fellow tributes in the Great Hall for a welcoming ceremony and short feast. Each night, we will commemorate the fallen, hopefully you won’t be one of them. Each of you are assigned a house-elf to monitor your progress from afar and grant you any sponsorship you receive.

Best of luck,

Ludo Bagman

He snorted at the humor of the Gamemakers, but appreciated they included some sort of instructions. Astoria was sitting on the ground with her arms wrapped around herself. It seemed that now they were no longer a group controlling a stockpile of supplies, the gravity of their situation was getting to her. He wondered how long until she broke and hoped he wouldn’t have to start carrying her when she did.

 

“Alright, so west it is, but which way is west?” He looked around at the trees and dark atmosphere; there was no way to see the sky, and thus no way to determine direction. “Should we just take a guess? Or do you have any better suggestions?”

 

“We don’t have a compass?”

 

“I don’t know, you’re the one that packed the bags. Did you pack a compass?”

 

“No, we didn’t see any compasses,” she answered annoyed. “We were too busy grabbing food and weapons.”

 

“Then it looks like your guess is as good as mine.”

 

“Fine, let’s find the path and then go from there.” She stood up and adjusted her bag. He handed Astoria her wand, and they set out. Once they found the path, they decided to follow it to the right and hope for the best. The walked in almost complete silence, only saying a few words here and there. If Theo was honest with himself, he would admit he was still mad at her for her interview, but he wouldn’t admit that to her. She had never tolerated jealousy in their relationship, insisting that if he doubted her faithfulness they shouldn’t bother being together.

 

After a couple hours of walking, Astoria began to complain about being hungry. Initially, Theo told her she would have to wait until they found a safe place to stop, but as she continued to complain, he decided to make her wait just to teach her some patience.

 

“You’re telling me, we haven’t passed a single safe place to stop?”

 

“Well it is the Forbidden Forest.”

 

“Yes, but we haven’t seen a single creature, or even another tribute,” she pointed out.

 

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t there.” A rustle behind them made them stop and turn around slowly. There didn’t appear to be anything behind them, but Theo knew better than to trust that meant there was nothing there.

 

“What do you think it is?” Astoria whispered.

 

“Give me your wand,” he replied, and she reluctantly handed it over. “Lumos,” the wand provided light and Theo pointed it towards the bushes. At first, he didn’t see anything, until the light reflected off a pair of yellow eyes. “Run,” he choked out in a whisper

 

“What?”

 

“I said run,” he repeated louder, stepping backwards as the yellow eyes moved closer revealing the body of a wolf. Astoria shrieked and took off. Theo fired an offensive spell, and not bothering to see if it did any damage, chased after her.

 

…

 

Hermione turned around slowly and almost screamed when she saw who it was.

 

“Ginny, you scared the wits out of me!” She flung her arms around her friend and sighed in relief. For the first time since she appeared in the forest she let herself think about how alone she had been, but not anymore. She pulled back to look at her friend. “What happened to you?” There was a long cut along the left side of her face, the edge of her robe was torn, and she was covered in blood and dirt.

 

“A lot of things which can pretty much be summed up as Theo and Forbidden Forest. I can’t decide which was worst,” she laughed. “What about you? How have you been all things considered?”

 

“All things considered? Surprisingly well. The portkey was a bit of a surprise and I had a scare with Zabini from 7 but-.”

 

“Zabini? What do you mean?”

 

“Oh, I just ran into him, literally, but he said he had a deal with Draco? I didn’t have time to make sense of it before he took off again, but I’ll have to ask Draco about it when I find him.”

 

“You mean you haven’t found him yet? Have you seen anyone?”

 

“You’re the first, and I must say it’s a relief it was you and not Theo or some terrifying creature.”

 

“How long have you been in here?” Ginny seemed to be growing concerned.

 

“I have no idea. You don’t happen to know what time it is? I didn’t stick around to gather supplies other than this bag before I went for my wand and ended up here, but I’ve been walking for more than a few hours I’m sure.”

 

“I’ll say. It’s probably after 8 by now.”

 

“You can’t be serious?”

 

“Oh, I am.”

 

“It’s harder to tell time here than I thought. How do you know what time it is anyway?”

 

“The sky,” Ginny answered simply. “I only just took the portkey about an hour ago, and it was maybe 7 by then.”

 

“What on earth were you doing for that long? There wasn’t still fighting when you left?”

 

“No, of course not. Almost everyone had already been taken Merlin knows where within an hour, and by that time I realized what was happening when people tried to grab their wand, so instead of doing the same, I decided to do something more productive.”

 

“Which was?”

 

“Hiding the rest of the stockpile,” Ginny answered smugly. “Eventually we’ll get through this forest and then people will either head to the castle or back for more supplies, but they won’t find it.”

 

“That’s genius Ginny, how did you even manage to move all that?”

 

“I had help,” Ginny admitted, “Theo’s group took almost half of it with them when they disappeared. It’s a miracle you haven’t seen any of them.”

 

“Wait, you said you’ve only been in the forest an hour? How did you get this far?”

 

“I wasn’t nearly as far in as you were, and I see you’ve been sticking to the path.”

 

“You haven’t?”

 

“I had wasted too much time moving everything, and I didn’t want to get too far behind. Looks like it worked, huh? I caught up to you just fine, now we just have to find everyone else.”

 

“Easier said than done. You don’t happen to have any food, do you?” Hermione asked remembering her objective when Ginny had found her.

 

“You wouldn’t believe.” She answered with a smile. Taking her bag off her back she unzipped it to reveal about a dozen apples. “There’s also some MREs on the bottom but I think we should start with these, so they don’t go bad.” They each grabbed one, and Ginny reclosed the bag. They walked together, and the comradery changed the feel of the forest. Instantly, Hermione felt more secure and the silence was less deafening. They talked of the forest and what Ginny knew about the creatures inhabiting it.

 

“I know there aren’t any werewolves, but there are wolves. Hagrid told Ron once there were acromantula, but I think he was just trying to keep him out of here. Supposedly, there’s trolls, oh and unicorns, I wonder if we’ll see one.”

 

“Have you been in the forest before?”

 

“Just once, when I was a first year I got detention for hexing a boy.”

 

“Why did you hex him?”

 

“Because he didn’t think I could.”

 

“And what did your parents think of that?”

 

“Mum didn’t approve but dad thought it hilarious.” Hermione had to agree with Mr. Weasley, that was pretty funny. They laughed for a few minutes while they walked, but a stirring behind them made them stop suddenly. Wands up, they faced the danger. Hermione started when something emerged from the bushes, and then wasn’t unsure whether to relax or not when that thing revealed to be a man, and not a man at the same time.

 

“Hello humans, I mean you no harm as long as you do not seek to harm me.” Hermione looked to Ginny who lowered her wand, and she did the same. “Thank you for your trust. My name is Firenze.”

 

“You’re a centaur,” observed Hermione. “I didn’t know your kind lived here.” He was very handsome, the human part at least.

 

“There is a whole herd of us,” he informed her, “Though you will most likely not meet my brothers. They do not care for humans, especially when they partake in this Tournament.”

 

“We don’t do it willingly, or well, some of us don’t,” amended Hermione. “If your brothers don’t like us, then why are you here?”

 

“I wanted to know if it was true, what the stars say.”

 

“What do they say?” Ginny asked genuinely interested, though Hermione didn’t know if she actually believed that nonsense.

 

“They tell me there is a change coming. That four will come together to save 11.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Hermione usually had no patience for divination, but this was just ridiculous.

 

“Save 11 what?” Ginny asked. “11 tributes?”

 

“I shouldn’t say any more about it,” Firenze said. “It is late, and there are those who wish ill of you about. Camp here for the night and you will be safe, but be sure you continue your walk through the forest early. It is not safe in the forest.” And without another word, he left them.

 

“I guess this is where we’re staying for the night.” Ginny shrugged, stepping off the path over to a tree with a bush on the side. “We should be fine here, anyone walking by won’t see us until we’ve seen them.” Seeing that Ginny’s mind was made up, Hermione took off her bag and sat on the ground against the tree. Ginny followed suit and they huddled together for warmth. No longer moving, the cold of the forest began to seep through their clothes. Just as they got comfy, a sudden voice jolted them upright.

 

“Attention tributes, this is Ludo Bagman.” His voice, already loud from the sonorous charm, seemed impossibly louder throughout the silent forest. “Congratulations on surviving the first day. Not all of you did, and now is time to commemorate the lost. From District 3, Henry McKellan, from District 9, Jane Diggle and Joseph Knightly, from District 11, Kenneth Bromson. Good luck to the remaining tributes.”

 

Hermione released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding since that canon fired initiating the Tournament. Draco, Harry, Ron, even Neville and Luna were still alive. It was one thing to see Ginny, but another to know she wasn’t the only one of her allies to have survived the first day. She imagined Draco felt the same relief she did, though she knew it would be more relieving to hold each other in their arms. Hopefully tomorrow, she would be able do that very thing. For now, she settled for Ginny’s warmth as they settled in for the night, both too exhausted to even consider taking turns keeping watch, instead trusting Firenze assurance they would be safe.


	13. Day 2

“Potter, get up. We need to get moving if we’re going to make it out of the forest today.” Draco wrapped his robes tighter around himself and rubbed his hands together for warmth, his warm breath was visible in the early morning air. The night had been long and neither had slept well. With no sky it was impossible to tell time so keeping watch in shifts had been difficult. More than once, Potter accused him of waking him early. 

“How do you even know it’s morning? As far as I know, it could be half past four.” Potter was apparently not an early riser and any other situation, Draco would have thought that hilarious. Now though, it was just irritating. 

“Because it’s not as dark as it was 2 hours ago. And technically speaking, half past 4 is in the morning.” Draco would’ve rather be stuck with anyone else in this situation than Potter, the tribute so determined to save everyone he allied himself with a bunch of underdogs. Well that’s not true, Draco told himself. He’d gladly choose Potter over Weasley or Longbottom. Really Potter was better than a lot of people, but Draco just really wanted to see Granger. Not hearing her name last night among the fallen was a relief, but he needed to see her himself to know she was ok. 

Potter finally got himself off the ground and gathered his things. “Alright let’s go.” They found the path and continued west. It was by sheer luck, they were together in the forest, Draco mused to himself. When the canon went off signaling the start of the Tournament, Draco fought the instinct to immediately run for supplies. He knew that Hermione would go for his wand even though she promised to trust he’d get it for her. He could see John from her District on the other side of the girl from 1, and behind him was her wand. He was going to stand there and make sure she got her wand and then ensure she ran towards the school as agreed. 

It was while standing there that he realized Parkinson on his other side hadn’t moved either. When asked what she was doing, she responded with a mature ‘none of your business Draco’. They had never gotten along, something about her having a crush on him and he openly rejecting her in front of all of their friends back in their fourth year. She was clearly too afraid to just run headlong into battle and was probably standing there waiting for Theo to come get his wand and protect her. Draco didn’t have the heart to tell her how stupid that was. Instead he settled for casual conversation. 

‘Fine day for a tournament, isn’t it?’

‘What does that mean?’

‘The weather, Pansy, it’s good.’ He had explained slowly. ‘I was worried it would be raining, but I guess not. Just a nice Monday in July.’

‘What are you playing at?’

‘Do you really have no friends that you don’t even know what small talk is?’

‘Shut up Draco! I have plenty of friends, more than you, and none of mine are bought!’ She had shrieked at him.

‘Ouch, Pansy that really hurts my feelings,’ he had responded with mock seriousness. ‘Here I am trying to keep you company until Theo gets here to yell at you for not helping, and all you do is insult me.’

‘He’s not going to yell at me!’

‘Oh, you’re right I’m sorry. I’m sure his specific instructions were ‘make small talk with Draco while everyone else gather supplies and kills people’, yeah that sounds like Theo’s strategizing.’ At that point, he had gotten under her skin and she realized he was right. 

‘No, he’s not going to be mad at me, because I’m going to bring him his wand.’ And then Draco watched as she stalked over to the box with Theo’s wand, watched as she bent down, and watched as she disappeared as soon as she touched it. 

Initially, he thought that was what happened if you touched someone else’s wand, but as he hurried to find Potter and tell him what he saw, he watched as the same thing happened to Longbottom. By then he came to the conclusion this was going to happen to everyone that grabbed a wand. When he found Potter, he told him this and they decided to wait to get their wands. Potter insisted on finding Ron and warning him. By the time the three of them were in the loop, most people had vanished.

They each grabbed a bag and met at the edge of the circle, away from Theo’s group as they figured it out and came up with a plan. They would get their supplies, grab their wands, be taken wherever that was and then find each other. Seeing that Draco was the only confident he could do the disillusionment charm, he would shoot red sparks in the air, conceal himself, and Potter and Weasley would go to his location. In reality, only Potter found him, and they had no idea where Weasley was. Hopefully, he remembered the compass spell Hermione had showed them during training, and he followed the note’s instructions. 

After Potter found him, the pair spent the afternoon and evening walking through the forest. Besides the occasional deer, they had yet to see any creatures. Draco knew better than to hope their second day in the forest would be as easy. They walked in silence, but it steadily grew uncomfortable, mostly due to Potter’s fidgeting and occasionally clearing his throat. After 10 minutes of this, Draco realized Potter wasn’t going to say anything on his own.

“If you have to take a leek Potter, just say so, so we can keep moving.”

“What? Oh, no it’s not that. I just, it’s nothing.”

“Listen Potter, you got something on your mind, and we’re stuck out here together for who knows how long, so just spit it out.” 

“Fine, I was just wanting to talk about you and Hermione. I’d like to consider her a friend, and I want to know what your intentions are.”

“My intentions? You’re serious?”

“I am. I’ve been told that trusting a Malfoy tends to end badly, but for Hermione’s sake I’ve accepted you as an ally, despite Ron all but swearing that you’ll double cross us given the first opportunity. So, what’s your game? How do you win?” 

“You’re not going to believe me, if I tell you.”

“Try me.” By now they’d stopped walking and the way Potter stared at made Draco think he actually believes him. His parents are pureblood and muggle-born after all. He sighed and continued walking. Potter hurried after him.

“Fine, if you must know, I win if Hermione lives. She dies, I die. Simple as that.”

“So, you’re not just looking to shag her?”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t object to that seeing how I’ll be dead soon and I’d like to get one more of those in first. But yeah, I will die happy if I know that means Hermione will live.”

“But she’s-.”

“Muggle-born? I thought you of all people wouldn’t think that matters.”

“It doesn’t, to some people at least but shouldn’t it matter to you?”

“It did at first, but then I decided that if she wins, her blood status will no longer matter, so it won’t matter if I loved her before then. But even now, that doesn’t matter anymore, because I’ll be dead so why should I care if she’s a muggle-born or not? She’s beautiful, smart, and so passionate about learning new things, it doesn’t even matter what it is she’s learning.” Potter didn’t say anything at first and Draco cursed himself for getting like this when he talked about her. He sounded like a lovesick fool. 

Finally, Potter responded, “So, you love her?”

“What?”

“You said if she won, it wouldn’t matter if you loved her, so that means you love her?”

“What is it with you Potters and love,” Draco muttered to himself. “I just really care about her ok? Can we leave it at that?” They walked in silence for a while, neither having anything else to say on the matter. They didn’t have much food, by the time Theo’s group picked through the crates, there were just some MREs left. Draco told Potter to hold off for when they found Hermione, in case she hadn’t found any food, but they were going to need to eat soon. He was trying to calculate how much farther they could walk without eating when a piercing scream broke the air. 

Draco froze unsure whether to risk revealing their location to other tributes, but Potter took off without a moment’s hesitation. Draco cursed under his breath before following him. They ran for a couple minutes until they reached the source of the scream. They arrived in a clearing where a troll was wreaking havoc, swinging a giant club, ripping branches off the smaller trees, but most importantly trying to catch the two girls who were backed into a tree. Every time they tried to run, the troll would swing at them. 

“It’s Hermione and Ginny,” Potter whispered. “What do we do?”

“Use magic,” Draco suggested sarcastically. 

“You don’t think Hermione already tried that?”

“I don’t see a wand in her hand, do you?” Draco didn’t see a wand in Weasley’s hand either, and he tampered down his anger at their foolishness; there would be time to chastise them after they were safe. 

“Would a stunning curse work?” 

“Probably not, that looks like a mountain troll, their hide is too thick.”

“Then what do we do?” Potter asked, obviously growing distressed at their lack of options. 

“Best option would be just to disarm it and try to make a run for it.”

“Brilliant, how do we do that?”

“I think it’s your turn for an idea Potter,” he growled irritated. The girls were probably distraught, going to be scarred for the rest of their possibly short lives. 

“Oh, piss off you ugly brute,” Ginny’s voice reached them from across the clearing. Well, maybe they were more annoyed then distraught. “Why don’t you go pick on Theo’s group, since you have so much free time.” She continued to yell at the troll, despite the beast probably not understanding anything she was saying. 

“What about a summoning charm?” Potter suggested. 

“And get crushed when it comes flying at us? I don’t think so.”

“Then a levitation charm? We make it levitate out of his reach and while it’s distracted the girls can get away!”

“Now there’s an idea. Do you want the honor, or shall I?”

“I can do it, you get the girl’s attention, so they know to be ready to-.”

Too engrossed in their plan they hadn’t realized Ginny was still shouting insults at the troll, slowly moving to the side as she did so. The troll, not understanding what she was saying but interested in eating her, had kept his attention on her, giving Hermione to the chance to make a run for it in the opposite direction. Something slowed her down though, and the troll noticed the movement before she could get out of reach. With a victorious yell, the troll raised his club, ready to swing. 

“Now!” Draco instructed his ally. 

“Whingardium Leviosa,” with a swish and flick, he got control of the club before it could meet its intended target. The club hovered in the air and raised higher. The troll looked dumbly at its empty hand, and then looked around for the missing weapon. Upon discovering it was hovering in the air, he reached for it, but it raised even higher. 

Taking advantage of the distraction, Ginny hurried over to Hermione who had fallen to the ground when the troll yelled, helped her up and the two ran out of the clearing. Draco watched where they went and then turned to Harry who was concentrating on moving the club to a tree where he released the spell, and the club landed on a branch a few yards out of the troll’s reach. 

The troll, determined to reclaim his possession, began furiously shaking the tree. 

“Come on, before he realizes we’re here,” Draco whispered, and they snuck away in the direction Hermione and Ginny went. The girls had gotten away a few minutes before they had, but after 10 minutes of hurrying through the forest, they had yet to find them. 

“You’re sure they went this way?”

“Positive, unless they made an abrupt turn, but this is the most direct way back to the path, so they must be here somewhere.” Draco was starting to get anxious, but he wouldn’t let Potter know that. Seeing Hermione was supposed to be reassuring, but her inability to get away quickly suggested she was injured and neither of them had their wands which was disconcerting. “We’ll find them,” he said to himself more to Potter, but his ally responded anyway. 

“I know we will.” They walked in silence, watching for any sign that somebody had been through recently. Draco was definitely not a tracker and every broken twig and indent in mud could have been human or animal, he couldn’t distinguish the difference. He hoped Potter would have more luck, but he seemed to be growing as desperate and hopeless as him. The trees all looked the same, the rocks and twigs on the ground mirrored the ones they past 10 minutes prior. Though they knew they were making progress, without the movement of the sun, they could’ve been standing frozen in time for all it felt like. The air was cool, but too damp and muggy to be considered refreshing. Sweat trickled down Draco’s back, and matted Potter’s hair to his forehead. They had stored their robes in their backpacks, rolled up their sleeves, and still felt too warm. Once night fell, they would complain about the cold, but now, Draco yearned for it. 

“How long have we been walking?” Draco asked. 

“About an hour, I think, maybe more.”

“We’re still headed west?” Harry set his wand on his hand and checked. “We’ll be out of the forest, hopefully by the end of the day, and then we should be able to find them.” His companion made no remark, and that bothered Draco as much as if he had said what Draco had been desperately trying to ignore. The girls would be headed west to get out of the forest also, but without a wand they could very much be heading farther into the forest, which would explain why they still hadn’t seen them. “We’ll find them,” Draco repeated as though this had become a mantra. We’ll find them. We’ll find them. We’ll find them. At this point, it wasn’t just Hermione, Draco needed to know Weasley was ok, both of the Weasleys if he was honest with himself, even if just for the sake of Hermione and Potter. “We’ll find them.”

Harry knew there was nothing he could say to Malfoy at this point, best to let him have his coping mechanism, he decided. Harry had his own by then also. Worrying about how Malfoy was coping was distracting him from worrying about everyone else. It was reassuring to see the girls, but he couldn’t face Ginny without knowing her brother was alive, and vice versa. If he had found Ron and was unable to tell him if Ginny was ok, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. His father gave him one job, and with that came responsibilities that, so far, he was failing miserably. 

As soon as the Tournament started, he began to panic. How would he manage to get supplies, his wand, and keep everyone safe. Then, when Malfoy told him about the portkeys, his anxiety skyrocketed, how could he even dream of protecting his allies, if he didn’t even know where they were? Once the portkey took him to the forest, he let himself feel the crushing weight of everything he had to do. Before he could sink too far into despair, he saw Malfoy’s sparks. Hurrying into the direction they were fired, he found his reluctant ally, and they waited for Ron. But he never came. Almost an hour he convinced Malfoy to wait, periodically shooting up sparks, risking their lives to ensure Ron would find them, but he never did. 

Cursing himself, Harry agreed with Malfoy that they needed to start moving, to get through the forest and find their other allies. They were bound to find other people eventually, even if it was Theo or one of the other purebloods, and Harry yearned for the human interaction. Malfoy wasn’t one for small talk and getting him to talk about Hermione had been more than Harry expected, and he wasn’t likely to get much else out of him now. So, they walked in silence, a symphony of twigs crunching under their feet, the occasional bird, their slight panting from the exertion, and Malfoy’s mumbled mantra, as their own soundtrack. 

Suddenly, a new noise entered their composition, a faint shout, too distant to discern the person, but a person nonetheless. Harry stopped in his tracks, but Malfoy continued walking, too lost in his quest to hear the sound. 

“Malfoy,” Harry said quietly, “do you hear that? There’s someone shouting.” Malfoy stopped and looked around.

“Hermione?”

“I don’t know, it’s too far away. I think it’s coming from this way.” Harry stepped off the path and attempted to follow the sound. It was too erratic to follow easily, and every few yards, they would have to stop and wait for another shout to direct them. As they neared, it became apparent the voice was male. 

“It’s not Hermione,” Malfoy pointed out unnecessarily. 

“No, but it could be Ron, or Neville, or someone who has seen Hermione and Ginny.”

“Or it could be Theo, or someone else who wants to kill us.”

“Which is why we have our wands out and ready to stun anything that jumps out at us,” Harry responded irritated. The sooner they found Hermione, the better; Harry didn’t think he could stand much more of Malfoy without her as a buffer between them. They continued walking, and Harry tried to ignore that they were walking deeper into the forest, ruining all of their progress. He instead focused on how much darker the forest seemed to get, despite still being midday and the ever-constant darkness of the forest. He also noticed there seemed to be some sort of white sticky substance all over the ground. He stumbled a couple of times as it became difficult to lift his feet. 

The shouting became frantic screaming, and was approaching them quickly. It was hard to tell, because he had never heard him make that sound before, but Harry was willing to bet 10 galleons it was Ron screaming for help.

“RON!” He took off towards the sound leaving Malfoy yelling after him. 

“HARRY?” The voice shouted back. “HELP ME!” 

“I’M COMING!”

“HURRY HARRY! THERE’S TOO MANY.” 

“TOO MANY WHAT?” He jumped over a fallen log and ducked under a low hanging branch. As he rounded a tree, he saw the answer to his question as Ron shouted the answer. 

“SPIDERS!” But not just spiders, Acromantula. Ron was in front of him brandishing his wand back and forth, firing spells left and right as spiders circled around him. Harry quickly joined in, providing support to Ron’s forgotten left side. As more spiders appeared, they adjusted their position, so they stood back to back. 

“What do we do?” Ron asked over his shoulder. 

“What we’re doing,” Harry suggested. “Maybe they’ll give up and go away?”

“Not bloody likely. They’ve been hunting me all day, herding me into their den.”

“And now they’ve got both of us,” Harry realized in frustration. “Where the hell is Malfoy?”

“Malfoy? What makes you think that git will be much help?”

“I was with him when I heard you shouting, as soon I realized it was you I took off and didn’t wait to see if he was following.”

“I seriously doubt it, he was probably waiting for you to run off and be a hero, so he can go off on his own.” Harry wished he could defend Malfoy, but as it looked, Ron was right. 

Their seemed to be an infinite number of spiders, and their wands were no match against all of them. They were 2 days in the arena, and Harry was going to die before he had even seen Hogwarts. At least he was beside his new best friend. Ron appeared to be aware of their fate as well. 

“I know we just met a few weeks ago, but you’ve been a good friend.”

“Thanks Ron, you too. You should know, I saw Ginny.”

“You did? She’s still alive?”

“She’s with Hermione. We lost them in the forest, but they were ok.” No need to tell him they may have been wandless and injured, Harry decided. It was best for Ron’s last thoughts to be that his sister was safe. 

They continued to fend off the spiders, but they were growing in quantity, and some were descending from the trees above them. 

“Bombarda Maxima!” A gaping hole in the woods appeared to Harry’s left, causing dozens of spiders to go flying. The rest scurried back a few feet, and looked at the figure that appeared in the destruction. “Dammit Potter, were you listening to me at all when I yelled at you not to go that way?” 

“Obviously not,” Harry responded to Malfoy. Upon realizing it was just another human standing there, the spiders continued their assault. 

“Bloody hell, Malfoy that was brilliant!”

“Thanks Weasley, now can we go?” Firing spells over their shoulders, the trio ran through the forest. The spiders were reluctant to let their meal leave and followed them relentlessly. 

“What do we do?” Harry asked. 

“There’s nothing to do but run,” Malfoy answered him. “They’ll follow us as far as they’re willing to go.” He fired another curse over his shoulder. “Or until they find something else to eat.” 

Harry got an idea. “Do you think you could find that clearing again? Where we found Hermione and Ginny?”

“We’re not going to use my sister as a distraction!” Ron exclaimed. 

“Not her,” Harry said, and Malfoy understood his plan. 

“I like the way you think Potter. I think it’s over that way.” They adjusted their course to the south, and the spiders continued to follow them. A loud thumping told them they were headed in the right direction. 

“What’s that sound?” Ron asked. 

“Just keep running Ron, we’ll run right past it, it’ll be too busy with the spiders.”

“What will? What is it Harry?” Despite his fear, he continued running and Harry was glad Ron trusted him enough to keep running towards an unknown creature. Hearing their approach, the creature in question began moving towards them. The thumping became more frequent as it began running. Harry suddenly wondered if this was actually a good idea, but it was too late to change their mind. 

“Here it comes,” Malfoy announced and not a moment later, they watched as the troll appeared through the trees. He had reclaimed his club and was swinging it aggressively. They continued running towards it and Harry kept looking over at Ron to ensure he was still with them. The troll progressed towards them, but it became clear when it realized they weren’t alone. The troll stopped running and stood its ground preparing to face the spiders, and the guys were able to run right past it. 

Chancing a glance over his shoulder, Harry watched as the spiders began attacking the troll. They continued to run for a little bit longer, until it was clear they weren’t being followed. Stopping to breath, they all collapsed in some form or other; Ron on his back, Harry to his knees, and Draco against a tree. Eventually, their gasps turned to laughs of relief. 

“Didn’t you say Weasley, during your interview, something about being afraid of Acromantula?”

“I did, yeah. And Ludo laughed at me, that arse!” 

“They must’ve sent you near their den intentionally,” Harry suggested. 

“You think?” The look of annoyance on Ron’s face only made the laughing start again. After a while, they sobered up and the mood turned somber. 

“You said you saw the girls?” Ron asked. 

“Earlier today, they were corned by the troll, but they got away,” Harry told him. “Listen Ron, you should know, it didn’t look like they had their wands, and they just disappeared in the forest. We have no idea where they went but,” Harry glanced at Malfoy, he needed to hear this also, “There’s a possibility they went the wrong way and that’s why we haven’t seen them. Without a wand, they have no way to figure out which way is west.” 

“So, they could be anywhere?” Harry nodded. “Then I guess we better find them. Maybe we should try the sparks? If they were here just a few hours ago, then they should still be near enough to see them, right?” Harry looked at Ron and marveled at his friend’s optimism, and then he prepared himself to shatter that outlook, but Malfoy beat him to it. 

“No Weasley, we aren’t going to fire red sparks in the air. Would you like me to explain why not?”

“That isn’t necessary,” Harry tried to say, but Malfoy seemed to snap. 

“First of all, it would remind the Acromantula, and the troll, that we’re right here ready to be eaten. Secondly, it was pure luck the other tributes didn’t come looking for me when I shot red sparks the first time, and I’m not chancing that again. And last of all, in the few hours it’s been since we saw them, who knows how much ground they’ve covered?” his voice was rising now, but Harry knew better than to try to quiet him. “The only reason we haven’t made any progress is because we circled around three goddamn times hoping to find some sort of trail even though Potter and I are the furthest things from trackers, and then we spent almost an hour saving your sorry ass. By now, without their wands, their probably dead.” As Malfoy finished his rant, his voice broke and he turned away from them. 

Harry looked and him and turned to Ron. “He’s right Ron, the only thing we can do now is get out of the forest and wait until nightfall to hear the names of the fallen. The path should be over this way, let’s go.” He adjusted his backpack and moved towards where he believed the path to be, but his friend stopped him. 

“No, he’s wrong.” Addressing Malfoy, he continued, “I don’t know how well you think you know Hermione, but I know my sister, and wand or no wand, she’s a survivor. Ginny didn’t get her wand until she was 11 like everyone else, but she always kept up with me and the twins. At school, she would sneak out at night and ride the brooms, she stood up to bullies, got good grades, and was quick on her feet. Even after we moved to District 5, she’d take of herself and me. This isn’t her first time in the forest, and I trust she can find her way out. I won’t just give up like you.” Harry looked from his friend to Malfoy’s back, he hadn’t turned around during Ron’s speech, but it was clear he had been listening. 

“Fine,” Malfoy eventually said, “But if we hear either of their names tonight, I’m going on alone.” And with that, he walked away. Harry looked to Ron but didn’t dare say anything. Ron just shrugged and followed after him. 

The three of them found the path and walked in silence. Every hour they stopped to drink some water and then continued to walk. Only when they suspected it was growing late, did they found a place to stop and eat. Once they were settled, Ron and Harry talked comfortably, mostly Ron sharing memories of the trips into the forbidden forest. 

“Fred and George used to sneak in here all the time, only because they weren’t allowed to, but I don’t think they ever got very far. Hagrid’s always in here checking on creatures and stuff, and he’d catch them and send them back up to the school. They tricked me into coming with them when I was a first year, said they had something cool to show me.”

“And you fell for that?” From what he had heard about the twins, Harry gathered that they had been the ultimate pranksters and could never be trusted. 

“I was 11,” Ron argued. “Anyway, we get out here and they keep promising it’s just a little bit further, and next thing I know we’re about a mile in, and Hagrid comes out of nowhere and starts yelling at us. They try to convince him it was my idea and they just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t get hurt. He didn’t believe them, of course, but he yelled at me for trusting them. I didn’t get in trouble thankfully, but Hagrid wouldn’t let me anywhere near the forest for the rest of the year, expect for detention that once.”

“What did you get detention for?”

“Oh, some stupid git kept talking rubbish during a quidditch game. Fred and George were the beaters, you see, and they were playing against Slytherin, and this kid was being obnoxious and saying this and that. My temper got the better of me and we had it out right there in the stands. I can’t remember who it was exactly,” Ron said thoughtfully. “I just remember him threatening to tell his father that I messed up his perfect blond hair,” he looked conspiringly over at Malfoy who pretended as though he couldn’t hear them. 

“So, your punishment was to go in the forest?” Harry asked. 

“We had to help Hagrid with some stuff: feed the thestrals, round up some baby hippogriffs, and stuff like that. It wasn’t too bad, or wouldn’t have been if the company didn’t have one git too many.” Harry hadn’t thought too much about it, but it made sense that Ron and Malfoy would’ve know each other from their time at Hogwarts. Did Ron’s distrust of Malfoy have to do with their time together as classmates? If it did, that meant Ron had been holding grudges from a time when Malfoy was 13, and he had refused to accept that perhaps his school rival had matured since then. Harry felt foolish for just accepting Ron’s opinion of Malfoy, even his father and Sirius’s insistence not to trust a Malfoy had been from knowing his father and not Draco. Perhaps, an alliance with Malfoy was not as risky as he thought, although it could be coming to an end soon. 

“Fred and George were so jealous I got to go in the forest that late at night,” Ron reminisced. “Said they never got to go in the forest for their detentions. But seeing how most of their detentions were for going in the forest in the first place, that makes sense.” Ron spoke of his brothers fondly, and Harry finally gave in to temptation. 

“When did they die?” 

“I don’t know, honestly. It was Christmas break during my third year, I stayed at school to study for exams, but they went home. When it was time to return to school, they never showed up. Mum and dad insisted they saw them board the train, but the ministry didn’t believe them. All of District 2 was searched and they were never found. The Aurors that patrol the borders had been having a problem of people try to sneak through and they had been given orders to kill anyone who tried to get past them. That month, there had been at least a dozen people, mostly muggles, who had been killed and buried in a mass grave. The Aurors didn’t waste time identifying any of them though, so we didn’t get their bodies.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry muttered awkwardly. He didn’t really know Ron, despite their immediate friendship, and now here he was making him talk about his dead brothers. 

“It’s alright, I guess. They were always doing dangerous stunts, I just figured they would’ve bit it right here in the forest doing something they love.”

They finished eating in silence, and then Harry took inventory of what they had. The had a couple small knives, a few feet of rope, some MREs, an empty metal cannister they had been using to drink out of, and their robes. No longer moving and getting dark, well darker, they donned their robes and found semi-soft places to rest. Harry had ignored Malfoy’s presence for the last half of the day, but now he focused his attention on him. He sat on the ground against a tree, wand out, backpack on, and eyes straight ahead. If Hermione and Ginny weren’t among the fallen, he would be on first watch, if they were, he would leave them and go on his own. Harry didn’t know how long he would last on his own, especially considering the state of mind he would be in at that point. 

They would almost definitely be out of the forest tomorrow, and from there their journey would take them to the school and Harry would continue his quest given to him by his father. With or without Malfoy, he would have to manage, but if he was honest with himself, it would be much easier with the pureblood’s help.

“Attention tributes, this is Ludo Bagman.” Harry and Ron sat straight up. “Congratulations on surviving the second day. Not all of you did, and now it’s time to salute the fallen. From District 4, Amelia Avery, and from District 11, Mary Mallow. Good luck to the remaining tributes.” Harry sat in stunned silence. Ron also made no movement until he let out a shaky breath. 

“They’re still alive,” he choked out. “Ginny’s alive.” Ron laid down and continued to laugh quietly to himself. Harry looked to Malfoy, but it was too dark to see his face. 

“Malfoy?” He asked quietly. 

“I’ve got first watch Potter, try to get some sleep. I’ll wake you in a few hours.” His tone ended the conversation, but Harry could tell he was just as relieved as Ron, but while Ron let his relief ease him to sleep, Harry knew Malfoy would only be thinking about how Hermione was still out there. She may be alive now, but what if they didn’t find her in time? Harry shook the thoughts away and let Malfoy worry about that; there would be plenty of time for him to fret during his watch.


	14. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, it's been a hectic month what with the holidays and all. This chapter was kinda difficult, because I wasn't quite sure where I wanted to go with it, but I think I'm satisfied with how it turned out.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Her legs ached, lungs burned, and the stitch in her side felt like she had been stabbed, but Ginny pushed herself to keep going. The sound of her panting and heart pounding in her ears prevented her from hearing if she was being followed, but she couldn’t risk slowing down. Propelling herself through bushes, she was glad she had decided to ditch her robe for fear it would only hinder her progress. The gash on her face had reopened and blood trickled down her face, but until it blocked her vision, Ginny ignored it. It was almost pitch black, but her eyes had adjusted to the dark, enabling her to see the trees in her path but not well enough to see the roots on the ground. A sound of surprise left her mouth before she could fight it as she stumbled forward, the momentum of her run causing her to fall to the ground. She landed on her knees and elbows and the impact was sure to leave bruises. 

Ginny scrambled onto her back and looked around. Now that she wasn’t running, she could hear a little better, though her hart was still racing, and she was still panting. Straining her ears, she struggled to listen for sound of life beyond her own. As her breath slowed, she was relieved to discover she couldn’t hear anyone else. They hadn’t followed her, or if they had, they lost her trail and gave up. Either way, she was safe for now. Standing to her feet, Ginny inspected the damage. She would definitely would have bruises on her knees and arms, one of ankles had twisted but didn’t appear to be sprained. She unbuttoned the bottom buttons of her shirt and lifted it to gingerly pat at her face. The wound had already stopped bleeding again and the blood was beginning to dry. 

Adjusting her bag on her back, Ginny continued the track back to safety. It had been a dangerous endeavor but well worth the risk; her bag was full again of important necessities. Convincing Hermione to stay at their camp had been difficult, but when they realized Theo’s group was nearby, Ginny couldn’t pass up the opportunity. The had awoken the day before to the arrival of a mountain troll, and in their desperation to get away, they left their wands and bags. They had led the troll as far away from their belongings as they could until it cornered them. When the troll had been distracted by an unknown savior, the girls circled around to retrieve their items, only to discover somebody had raided their loot. 

Only their wands were still there, carefully tucked away under the bush they slept near. Hermione had insisted it wasn’t important, that they could manage without their supplies as long as they didn’t dally in the forest, but Ginny argued they would be stuck in the forest for at least another day and they would need food. In the end, they compromised; if Ginny could track down where their supplies went within an hour, they would go from there, if not they would consider it a loss and move on. 

It had taken Ginny just shy of an hour to find Theo’s camp, a ways north to where they had slept for the night. A few hours of surveillance revealed Theo only had Astoria and the boy from 4 with him, and Ginny assured Hermione could she get their supplies back before Ludo’s update on the fallen. She had been almost right. Theo had sent the boy from 4 to monitor the area while he and Astoria lit a fire and set up defensive spells. It had taken some skillful maneuvering, but Ginny managed to stay within their borders and out of sight. By the time they settled down for the night, she knew Hermione was sick with worry. Theo and the other two sat there eating her hard-earned apples, and Ginny patiently waited in the shadows. 

Finally, they finished eating and set the bags to the side. Ginny kept her eye on which one had the most food and waited for Ludo to address the tributes. Once he did, Ginny forced herself to complete her task as the other’s focused on the Gamemaker’s words. Using the distraction to her advantage, she grabbed a bag and took off. Had more tributes not survived the day, she may have made it away undetected, but too soon the list ended, and her retreat was heard. 

Theo had gained on her almost immediately, but away from the light of the fire, his eyes couldn’t adjust to the dark fast enough and he had to slow his pace. By the time he thought to light his wand, she had put some distance between them, but he fired spells at her regardless. None managed to hit her, but a few shattered some trees as she passed them, and she shuddered to think what would happen if he had hit his target. 

Half an hour later, Ginny felt comfortable walking the remaining distance to her and Hermione’s camp. She would have to let Hermione know about the protective spells Theo placed around his camp and hopefully her ally would know how to do those. As she approached the area Hermione had promised her she’d be, Ginny slowed her pace. Wand up, she continued forward cautiously.

“Hermione?” She said quietly, but it felt loud in the silence. “It’s me, Ginny.” There was no response, and Ginny could feel the panic rising in her chest. What if something happened to Hermione because she left her there alone? They could’ve gotten out of the forest if Ginny hadn’t argued to wait and retrieve their supplies. “Hermione?” she said a little louder, not caring if whatever beast or person that killed her friend was still lurking about awaiting its next victim.

“Ginny?” A figure appeared to her left and Ginny jumped, almost dropping her wand in surprise. “Thank god you’re alive!” 

“You scared the shit out of me Hermione.”

“I scared you? You were supposed to be back ages ago, and now you show up bleeding and limping.”

“But I’m back, and I got our stuff.” They moved into the trees and opened the bag. Lighting her wand, Ginny saw the bag had food as hoped but also contained the empty jar, some rope, the textbooks, and another knife. Hermione still had hers attached to her waistband, and now Ginny had one to match. 

“They have the Polyjuice potion,” Hermione stated with a frown. “We’ll need to come up with a way to determine if the other person is a fake or not.” Abruptly, Hermione stood up and pointed her wand at her. 

“Hermione? What are you doing?”

“What took you so long to get back Ginny? How do I know you aren’t Theo? That’s why it took you so long to get back, because he caught you and-.” She stopped and took a breath. “Prove it’s you. Tell me something only Ginny would know.” 

Ginny thought frantically. “I don’t know? Ask me about something we talked about,” she suggested.

“Right,” still pointing her wand at her, Hermione racked her brain. “On the last day of training, when we were eating lunch, what did we talk about?” Ginny thought back and almost snorted when she remembered. 

“We talked about you and Draco getting some alone time in the arena and I said you wouldn’t be a floozy if you went all the way with him. Figures that even in a moment like this you’re still thinking about him.”

“I wasn’t thinking about him Gin, that was the only private conversation we’ve had before the Tournament started,” Hermione argued. 

“So, I pass?” 

“Yes, now ask me something!”

“Why would I need to do that?” 

“Because you were gone for a long time and who knows who else has Polyjuice.”

“Fine, what did Malfoy say to us during dueling?”

“Something about how you need to get away from Ron and fight like hell, because if anyone deserves to win it’s one of us?”

“Correct! Now can we go to sleep? I’m exhausted.” Hermione agreed, and they set up an area to sleep. Ginny told her about the protective spells she saw Theo do, and Hermione said she had heard of those spells but hadn’t tried any yet. She attempted a few of them and they felt a bit more secure sleeping that night. 

Ginny awoke with a start several hours later and realized she had fallen asleep on her watch. Hermione was still sleeping next to her and their bag was still securely on her back. The birds were making noise in the treetops implying it was morning. Ginny decided to let Hermione sleep for a few more minutes and got up to go relieve herself. One of the many things she was looking forward to upon getting to the school was plumbing. 

On her way back to where she left Hermione, Ginny thought she heard wings flapping. As she got closer, the wings got louder, and she wondered how wings could make that much noise. She rounded a tree and realized with a start that the wings didn’t belong to a bird. Hermione was still on the ground but was wide awake and staring at the creature in front of her, obviously terrified. Ginny had stopped as soon as she saw it, but the animal had already heard her approaching and turned to look at her suspiciously. 

“Hermione?” She whispered. “Are you ok?”

“You mean besides waking up to see a hippogriff standing above me? Then yeah, I’m great,” she responded quietly. “What do we do?”

“Hagrid took us out once to see one, I don’t know if this is the same one, but he told us they’re very proud creatures, easily offended.”

“So how do we avoid offending him?”

“We bow?” Ginny guessed. “I think that’s what Hagrid said. I doubt it will hurt to try.” With a breath, Ginny bowed her head and lowered her upper body, making a point to keep eye contact with the creature. The hippogriff clucked approvingly, and Ginny looked up to see the half-horse, half-eagle reciprocating the gesture. She chuckled in relief and slowly straightened her back. The hippogriff mirrored the movement and turned to Hermione. “You have to do it now,” Ginny instructed her.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” 

“Then we run away really fast.”

Hermione cautiously climbed to her feet, keeping her upper body low and mirrored Ginny’s actions. The hippogriff seemed to contemplate for a moment, then made up its mind and bowed in turn. 

“So, we’re good now?” Hermione asked. “It’s not going to hurt us?” The creature in question was looking at them curiously, as though he wondered the same about them. 

“I guess so? Hagrid wanted to teach us how to ride them, but McGonagall said no. I wonder if this one will let us ride him?” She took a small step towards the hippogriff, and when he didn’t object, she took a few more. Despite Hermione’s quiet protests, Ginny reached out and stroked the feathers of the hippogriff. The bird clucked approvingly, and she took it as encouragement to continue. “Come here Hermione, he’s so soft.” Hermione murmured a few feeble excuses about germs and diseases and made no attempt to approach the bird. Taking the matter into her own hands, Ginny led the hippogriff towards her friend who backed herself against a tree. 

“Really Ginny, I’m fine. You go ahead and pet him for me; I rather like the idea of having both hands.” By then, the hippogriff stood in front of her and Ginny chuckled as the creature took the initiative by nudging Hermione’s shoulder. 

“It would be quite rude to deny him of pets when he was kind enough not to maul you to death in your sleep.” Hermione let out a quiet oath and gingerly reached up to touch the animal. The hippogriff made a sound that Ginny could only interpret as annoyance in such delicate touching, and Hermione sighed and stroked him more confidently. 

“He’s quite entitled, isn’t he?” Hermione asked, but she didn’t seem to mind now that she was no longer fearing for her life. 

“You think we could ride him?”

“Oh, I don’t know Ginny, it seems dangerous. What if he decides mid-flight that we’ve offended him and kicks us off?” 

“Then you’ll do a hover charm before we fall to our death,” she suggested, absently taking stock of their belongings. They had enough food left over to last them a day, maybe two if they ate sparingly, but it wasn’t the limited food that made her eager to get out of the forest. Theo would be hunting them down purposefully now, and she had already missed a rendezvous with her surprise ally. They had planned to find each other at the broom shed the previous day, but Ginny couldn’t let go of the lost supplies. She could only hope he would still be there waiting for her when she finally escaped the forest. 

“You can’t be serious?” 

“What?” Lost in thought, Ginny forgot she had been talking to Hermione and suddenly worried her companion somehow knew what she was thinking.

“You want to ride him?” Hermione said exasperated. 

“He could get us out of the forest.” Ginny answered with a shrug. She had gathered Hermione wasn’t much of a risktaker, preferring to play it safe and stick with what she knew. “He seems to like us well enough.” The creature in question was still receiving attention from Hermione’s hand and was watching their conversation with interest. Ginny wondered if he could understand them. Directing her next questions to him, she asked, “Do you know how to get out of the forest? Could you take us to Hagrid’s?” Apparently recognizing the gamekeeper’s name, the bird grew excited, flapping his wings and ruffling his feathers. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Ginny said a little smugly. 

Ignoring Hermione’s protest, she straightened her backpack, made sure she had her wand in her pocket, and approached the hippogriff. Trying not to grip his feathers too tightly, Ginny hoisted herself onto the creature’s back. Hermione let out a small shriek as the hippogriff adjusted to the weight and Ginny struggled to retain her balance. Once situated, Ginny and the hippogriff turned to Hermione. The bird appeared to have no objections to carrying another person, and Ginny watched as an array of emotions crossed Hermione’s face. 

Fear seemed to win as Hermione said, “We could die Ginny.”

“We’re in the Tournament Hermione; by all accounts, we’re already dead. Might as well enjoy it a little first.”  
Knowing Ginny had a point, and that she wouldn’t want to stay behind in the forest by herself, Hermione accepted defeat. 

“Fine, but when we fall to our death, I’m only doing the hover charm on myself. You can save yourself.” She accepted Ginny’s outstretched arm and pulled herself onto the hippogriff behind her. The creature didn’t appear to mind the extra weight and gave Hermione time to adjust. 

“Alright Mr. Hippogriff, take us out of the forest, take us to Hagrid’s hut.” Praying that the hippogriff knew what she was saying, Ginny held on tight as the creature broke into a run.

…

Pansy Parkinson had no idea what she was doing. She was a seventeen-year-old pureblood from District 2 and she had attended Hogwarts until June when she finished her schooling. She was supposed to take the summer learning the schematics of her father’s business and then in the fall she would begin her internship which would hopefully lead her towards taking over the business when her father was ready to retire. 

Instead, she had been Reaped and sentenced to death. She knew it was only a matter of time until something, or someone, killed her; if she really thought about it, she suspected that someone to be Theo. She didn’t expect him to understand that she had taken his wand only to give it to him. How was she supposed to know it was a portkey to the forest? Regardless, she was almost certain Theo would kill her the moment he saw her, so her strategy had been to avoid him to the best of her ability. 

Form the moment she appeared in the forest, Pansy had been plagued with misfortune. The afternoon of the first day was spent running from a pack of wolves. She only managed to ditch them when they focused their attention on the arrival of Theo and Astoria who appeared to have taken the portkey together. Thankfully, they hadn’t noticed her presence, instead they drew the wolves away and Pansy was left alone to find the path that would lead her out of the forest. That night though, she had been unable to sleep for fear of being eaten in her sleep. Clutching Theo’s wand, she crawled in some bushes, and the thought of how many bugs were making a home for themselves in her hair was enough to keep her awake. 

The second day, she made a lot of progress, until she realized she had remerged from the bush facing the wrong direction and had walked all the way back to where she had seen Theo and Astoria draw away the wolves. Cursing herself, she retraced her steps back to her campsite and began again.

This time heading the correct direction, Pansy walked for the entire day. However, any noise she heard foreshadowed her impending doom and made her dart off the trail to hide for several minutes until she deemed it safe enough to venture out again. Unfortunately, the forest was full of wildlife, which meant Pansy stopped a lot. After making almost no progress, she forced herself to toughen up and face the dangers. She had a wand, and she knew how to use it, and she’d be damned if she didn’t get out of the forest that day. 

By nightfall, she had walked several miles and hadn’t encountered anything until she saw a couple of very large spiders. Shuddering at the thought of running into more of those, Pansy had turned her brisk walk into a sprint. Not being one for exercise, she was quickly out of breath and the lack of food and water suddenly became apparent as she grew lightheaded and began seeing spots in her vision. The moment she decided she was done running, her legs gave out beneath her and she tumbled down a small hill that had been invisible in the dark. 

The fall wouldn’t have been so bad, had it not been for the rock her back landed on. Bruising would have been tolerable, but the way her shirt stuck to her back suggested the dampness she felt was no longer merely sweat, but now also blood. Decided she wouldn’t make any more progress, she pulled herself towards the nearest bush and assumed her now usual sleeping position. 

When she awoke the third day, she was so sore she almost couldn’t move. Pansy cringed at what she imagined she looked like. Two days in the forest with no shower, her clothes covered in dirt and stiff with sweat and blood, she was probably hideous. The first thing she would do upon reaching the school would be to take a bath. Having never been in the forest before, Pansy had no idea how much further it was to the edge of the forest, but she hoped she was getting close. The letter Ludo left for Theo said there was a welcoming ceremony awaiting them in the Great Hall, meaning the majority of them were expected to survive the forest. The feast would probably be a resting point before continuing the Tournament and Pansy was most eager for a rest. 

Climbing out of the bush, Pansy attempted to straighten her body into a standing position. As expected, her back ached, her legs were cramped, and there was a kink in her neck. Making sure she had Theo’s wand and her sense of direction, Pansy slowly set out for the path. She would’ve killed for a hot bath and some clean clothes, but what she really needed was some food. Water was available courtesy of magic, but there was no way to summon food. 

Ludo’s letter told her there was a house-elf assigned to each of them to grant them sponsorship, so where was hers to give her some food? It was clear she was in need of assistance, but did she have to summon the elf first? It was worth a shot, Pansy decided. She stopped and listened for sounds of others near her; when she didn’t hear anyone, she cleared her throat and risked announcing her presence. 

“Um excuse me?” Pansy spoke quietly, “House-elf? I’d like some food.” She stood there feeling ridiculous talking to something that may or not actually be there, but when there was no response, she grew annoyed. “I said I want food,” she continued louder, her voice growing shrill as her temper flared. “I’ve been wandering through this forest, running from wolves and giant spiders, sleeping in bushes, and being eaten alive by bugs! I haven’t eaten anything in two days and I’m starving, so BRING ME SOME DAMN FOOD!” Her scream was met with silence, not even the birds in the trees made noise for a moment. And in the few seconds of silence, Pansy felt the realization of what she just did press into her, gradually growing heavier and heavier. Once the weight was almost too much too bear, she could hear the footsteps increasing in volume and speed as they neared her. More than one person, she guessed based on the amount of noise they made, but Pansy didn’t take time to estimate how many people before she jumped into a bush just off the path. Her back protested as she hunkered down into a fetal position making sure her limbs were tucked out of sight. She took a shaky breath and then forced her lungs to cooperate with her need to move as little as possible. The rustling of the bush her breathing caused seized mere moments before the figures ran into view. 

Through the leaves she could see legs round a tree and stop a few feet from where she had stood. Seconds later, another pair appeared followed instantly by another. Pansy couldn’t see higher than the upper thighs of the legs without moving, and she wouldn’t dare risk them discovering her. Masculine hands that belonged to one pair of legs appeared on the knees as the person bent forwards in obvious exhaustion. 

“Are we even sure it was one of them?” The voice choked out between gasps. Pansy thought the man’s voice sounded familiar but all she was sure of was that it wasn’t Theo’s. 

“We don’t,” another guy answered angrily stepping towards the legs that had appeared first, “And we shouldn’t have just ran towards whoever it was without thinking.” He also wasn’t Theo, but Pansy had an even harder time recognizing the voice. 

“So, it was acceptable for you to run headlong into the forest, in the opposite direction than we were heading I might add, when it was your boyfriend calling for help, but when it might be Hermione and Ginny, that’s when you want to stop and strategize? Duly noted Potter.” Pansy had no issue recognizing Draco’s voice even when it wasn’t as cool and collected as he usually was. He was traveling with Potter, and probably Weasley, Pansy guessed. She doubted Draco would just hex her, but she wasn’t going to chance her life with Potter and Weasley. Especially with how much she used to tease Weasley when they were classmates. 

“That was different, and you know it.” Potter countered. “I knew it was Ron and he was obviously in trouble. Whoever this was just sounded angry, and if you stayed for a second you would’ve heard Ron say that it definitely wasn’t Ginny.”

“Then what if it was Hermione?” Draco asked. “She can have a temper, I’m sure, and we’re all getting a little frustrated trying to get out of this place.”

“Well if it was Hermione,” Weasley had regained his breath and was facing away from the others, “Then where is she now? This is definitely where we heard her, isn’t it?”

“She was here,” Draco answered confidently. “And she couldn’t have gotten far.”

“Unless if she magically heard us coming and decided to run as far away as she could,” Potter responded sarcastically. “Not that we weren’t super quiet.” Pansy watched as the legs belonging to Draco stalked over to where Potter stood; they only stopped once they were less than a foot away from him. 

“If you have a problem with me wanting to find Hermione, then maybe you should take Weasel and go your own way.” 

“Sounds like a fine idea to me,” Potter responded, and Pansy suspected he hadn’t even flinched at Draco’s menacingly tone. “Ron and I are going to continue on the path out of the forest, aren’t we Ron?” Weasley made a sort of noncommittal grunt that Potter interpreted as a yes. “And you can go running through the forest all you want, either scaring off the girls before you find them or drawing attention to yourself. Come on Ron.” Potter turned away from Draco and the two of them sauntered towards the path and out of sight. Draco stood there for a moment and Pansy could see him clench his fist a few times before he turned walked past her hiding spot, heading north. 

Pansy fought the urge to emerge from her bush for almost half an hour. Only when her bladder began to ache uncomfortably did she finally escape from her niche. Knowing that Potter and Weasley were not even an hour’s walk ahead of her made her walk slower than she had wanted, but the thought of running into Draco prevented her from walking off the path. She regretted announcing her presence to them, but at least now she knew there were others still trapped in the forest and that she wasn’t as far behind as she thought. Granger and the other Weasley were supposedly out there also, presumably together, so Theo and Astoria probably were too. The thought made her uneasy and she distracted herself with analyzing the conversation she had overheard. 

It had been obvious Draco was falling for the Mudblood, Pansy had known him long enough to know that it was more than just a fling. She had been a fling, after all, so she was practically an expert on the subject. Draco’s flings never lasted more than a few weeks and he never acknowledged them in front of other people. The fact that he openly talked of how he cared for Granger to Potter and Weasley meant he was beyond infatuated with the witch. Pansy snorted at the irony of the situation. Draco Malfoy, pureblood disgrace, is given a chance to redeem himself and instead he falls in love with a Muggleborn.

Up until that point, Pansy had thought about Theo killing Granger gleefully, but having discovered Draco’s feelings for the witch, Pansy was no longer sure how she felt. On the one hand, it would do Draco some good, being denied something for once; on the other, maybe it would be better for Draco to be given the chance to experience a real human connection. She hoped she would live long enough to see how it played out, but she wouldn’t bet on it. Theo was still out there, eager to kill her first chance he got.

Night slowly fell, and Pansy lost hope that she would make it out of the forest that day. She knew she would have to be getting close, but she wouldn’t dare traipsing through the forest in the dark. It had become easier to distinguish between night and day in the forest, but Pansy yearned to see the sky and the sun again. She settled in for the night in another bush and awaited Ludo’s voice to update the remaining tributes. Thoughts of a bed and blankets eased her in and out of consciousness. Her head grew heavy and the sensation of falling startled her awake. The bush rustled around her as she adjusted her position. Once she reached a state that leaned slightly more towards comfortable than not, she ceased her movement. It took her a moment to realize the rustling continued.

Her eyes flew open and she held her breath. The rustling appeared to be a few yards away from her bush, but she couldn’t make out anything in the dark. She wondered when it had gotten so dark. Had she fallen asleep and slept through Ludo’s announcement? The rustling grew louder, and Pansy wondered if her pounding heart was audible to whoever was nearby. If it was an animal, they would be able to sense her presence, she was sure of it, but another human might not be as observant. The rustling finally stopped, but her heart continued its parade in her chest. She still had Theo’s wand against her chest, and it would only take a second to force her arm through the bush and towards the source of the noise, but could she risk revealing herself?

If it was another wizard, they might be faster than her. An animal could be easily stunned, but what if it was one of many, the pack of wolves, or more giant spiders? She couldn’t risk it. Pansy chose to stay in her bush and pray to any gods that she survived the night. It was most likely a harmless deer, anyway. Once her mind was made up, she allowed herself to relax a little, but a sudden voice almost made her scream.

“Attention tributes, this is Ludo Bagman. Congratulations on surviving the third day, not all of you did. Let’s take a moment to remember the fallen tributes. From District 8, Lavender Brown, and from District 11, Victoria Scott. Good luck to the remaining tributes.” 

Had Pansy someone she cared for, she might have sighed in relief at not hearing their name among the fallen. As it were, the only people she had at one point considered friends, were now trying to kill her. She would’ve been relieved to hear that someone had managed to kill Theo, thus buying her more time before someone else would hunt her down. That was not the case, however, so she did not breathe a sigh of relief, or even whisper a quiet, ‘thank Merlin’. Instead someone else did that, someone who was very much human, and not a deer at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Do we like Pansy's perspective? I haven't read a lot from her POV so I wasn't sure how I wanted to write her. Too often I find she is depicted as whiny and overbearing, but I think when it comes down to it, she is more capable than she appears. I'll probably write another chapter from her view later on depending on how the story progresses. As for Lavender's death, I'm sorry it's a little underwhelming, but that's just how it is for now. I'll expand on it later and give her justice, don't worry.


	15. Day 4

The birds woke him up this time. Yesterday had been some squirrels throwing things at him and the day before was a troll. Neville considered this an improvement. He hadn’t slept very well, most people wouldn’t sleep well wedged between a couple bushes, but he had succeeded in getting at least a couple hours of rest in the early hours of the morning. He pulled himself free of the bushes and looked around. Everything looked the same as it had when he first arrived in the forest a few days earlier; had it not been for Hermione’s compass spell, he never would’ve found his way through the forest. He regretted not grabbing any supplies like Ludo had recommended, but he had been fortunate to find a backpack with apples and some MREs that someone left behind. Neville suspected they hadn’t left it by choice, but he decided not to dwell too much on that. 

Pulling an apple from the bag, he brushed it off with his robe and took a bite. The crunch was loud in the relative silence of the forest, but Neville doubted there was anyone near enough to hear him. He had been slow in his progress each day and figured most people would be at the castle by then. He slung the bag over his shoulder and resumed his journey along the path. He had yet to see anyone, which was probably for the best. Most people would kill him the moment they saw him. He knew Harry, Ron, and Hermione wouldn’t hurt him, but they seemed preoccupied with their own alliance to help him. Ginny and Luna on the other hand were least likely to abandon him, if he could find them of course. 

Each night, he dreaded hearing either of their names, and last night he had been so relieved they were still alive he didn’t even bother saying his thanks silently. He suspected Ginny at least had made it to the castle, and Luna wouldn’t be far behind. She was good with magic, but easily distracted. The only reason he expected her to be behind Ginny was because she would stop to hunt for some sort of mythical creature. 

Thinking of his new friend made Neville aware of how lonely he was; he hadn’t had human contact in three days and the effects were beginning to show. Any moment, he was sure he’d start talking to himself; it was miraculous he hadn’t yet. He kept himself sane by imagining what the castle would look like. His parents had told him stories of it, both were purebloods and therefore students, and it wasn’t until they attempted a muggle rights movement after their schooling that they were deemed blood traitors. 

Their description of the Great Hall and the hundred-something staircases seemed like a fairytale to him, but soon he’d see it himself. Neville knew there was next to no chance of him surviving the Tournament, but if he got to see Hogwarts first, he’ll have died feeling accomplished. Maybe that was why they held the Tournament here, he wondered. Parents were less likely to storm the ministry outraged over their child’s death when everyone around them is saying ‘at least they got to see Hogwarts first’. He supposed it was a great accomplishment, seeing a school they had been told since childhood they had no right to attend, and the fact that they had to endure the forest first just proved they deserved to see Hogwarts. 

The forest was quiet that day, only the birds made noise, and even that was more subdued than usual. Neville didn’t mind the quiet, it would make it easier to tell if someone was sneaking up on him; normally the birds made so much noise he could hardly hear his own steps. After a few minutes of almost near silence though, Neville began to feel as though time had slowed, and wanting to make some sort of discernable sound to remain grounded in the eternal forest, he began to hum. Beginning with a random tune, reminding himself he was trying not to draw attention to himself, he softly hummed to himself. Being able to contribute to the sounds of the forest reminded Neville what it felt like to be in conversation with people and he hummed louder, encouraged by the pseudo-interaction he was having with the birds in the trees. 

Making his way through his favorite songs, Neville hummed until he was breathless. Upon reaching the chorus of one of his mom’s favorite songs, he couldn’t refrain himself from singing the words under his breath. Through the first verse, he was careful to keep his voice low, but when he reached the chorus the second time, he forgot where he was and sang the song, out of tune, but louder and proudly. Singing the song, he could almost imagine his mom singing along with him and he used the memory of her voice as encouragement to continue. 

As soon as the song ended, he began again, just like how his mom would listen to the song on repeat. He sang off-key, as he always had, and he could hear his mom’s voice singing it, not perfectly but better than he was. They sang, not in harmony, but together, and Neville could feel tears pricking his eyes. He didn’t want the song to end and he stopped before the last line, choking out a sob when he heard her finish the song without him. He stopped walking, lost in sorrow, and it took a few moments for Neville to return to reality; he hadn’t really heard his mom singing, she wasn’t there with him. She was in England with his dad, not in the forbidden forest.

But somebody had been singing with him. 

Stifling his sobs, he tried to subtly retrieve his wand from his pants pocket. He could have managed it, probably, if his wand had actually been in his pocket. Before Neville could truly start to panic, he remembered that he had put his wand in his backpack before he fell asleep the night before. Reassured that he had his wand, he relaxed a little and took the bag off his shoulder. Panic began to set in though as he tried, unsuccessfully, to crouch on the ground with his bag and unzip it; his hands were shaking too much, and the zipper got stuck.

He considered just running for it, but there were roots and rocks all over the ground and he tripped often just when he walked. Maybe they weren’t going to hurt him. He reasoned with himself that they would’ve tried to kill him already if that was their intention. Unless they were wanting to drag it out, lower his defenses, and then kill him when he least suspected it. That seemed plausible. Neville continued to struggle with his zipper, but it was hopeless. 

Sighing, he slowly stood up and turned around. She was standing several yards away, wand pointed at his face. He knew he should’ve been able to identify her immediately, the tributes had spent a couple weeks locked in close proximity for hours at a time, but she was unrecognizable. Her face was covered almost completely in dirt, leaves clung to her hair, her clothes were ripped and stained with what appeared to be blood, and she couldn’t stand up straight as though she had been injured. 

“The bag,” she said quietly, “What’s in it?” Despite the danger of the situation, Neville was relieved to have someone to talk to after so long. 

“My wand, some apples, and a few MREs,” he answered. 

“Set it down, put your hands up where I can see them, and walk backwards until I tell you to stop,” she instructed. He did as he was told, unsure why she didn’t just kill him. He walked backwards slowly, worried he’d trip and get hexed. Once she deemed him far enough away, she told him to stop moving. She approached the backpack slowly, keeping her wand and eyes on him, only looking away when she crouched on the ground at the bag. She pulled on the zipper with the one hand, but it was still stuck. “Why won’t it open?” She shrieked her frustration and Neville realized who she was.

“Your Pansy, right? Parkinson? From District 2?” She didn’t answer, focusing all her attention on getting the bag open. “Aren’t you allied with Theo? And the other purebloods? Where are they?” If her allies were nearby, there was no chance he would be getting out of this alive. She still didn’t answer, and in her desperation to get the bag open, she set down her wand and was using both hands. “The zipper is stuck,” he told her. 

“I know it’s stuck, I’m not stupid.” She screeched not looking up at him. Her attempts to get the bag open grew frantic, she was tearing and scratching at the bag. 

“Do you want help?”

“No, I don’t want your help, I want, I want—” her voice broke and Neville realized she was crying, angrily and frustrated, she let out a scream. “I just want to eat something, and I want to sleep in a bed, to take a bath and wear clean clothes. I want to go home and talk to another human being, and not worry that my friends are going to try to kill me.” She continued, but Neville stopped listening as he realized she had no allies waiting to kill him. She was as alone as he was, but neither would be alone if she kept screaming. Taking a risk, he hurried towards her and reached for the bag. She made no attempt to grab her wand, too overcome with hysterics, now crying and sobbing openly. He tore open the bag and apples dropped to the ground. Pansy grabbed out frantically and bit into it. Taking advantage of her distraction, Neville retrieved his wand from the bag and stepped back. Pointing it at her, he willed his arm to stop its trembling. 

She looked up at the wand pointed at her, juice spilled from her mouth as she finished an apple and immediately bit into another, not bothering to swallow the last bite. There was no fear on her face as she looked from the wand to the apple in her hand. “If you could let me finish this apple first, that would be very kind of you. I haven’t eaten since breakfast on the train, and I don’t want my last thoughts to be of how hungry I am.” 

“I’m not going to kill you,” Neville responded, surprising them both. 

“You’re not?”

“No, I’m not a killer, but I may have to stun you, so I can put some distance between us.”

“No!” She shouted, jumping up from the ground. “Don’t leave me please. I’ve been alone this whole time. The only interaction I’ve had is listening to a conversation between Draco and Potter. When I decided to follow you this morning, it was just to steal your bag, but then you started singing and I couldn’t help sing along; I haven’t talked aloud in three days.” 

“How am I supposed to trust you’re not going to kill me, as soon as you get bored of me?” 

“You don’t,” she answered honestly, “but I’ll agree to not kill you as long as we’re in the forest, and you can choose whether or not you believe me.” She threw the apple core to the side and picked up another apple along with her wand. Straightening up, she winced slightly, and walked ahead of him. “Are you coming?” 

Neville stood there debating. On the one hand, he enjoyed having someone to talk to and she didn’t appear to be in any hurry to kill him, on the other, this was a tournament with only one survivor, and alliances only lasted so long. With a shrug he decided there was only one way out of the forest and it was the direction she was currently heading. He grabbed the bag and hurried after her. 

“I’m Neville, by the way, District 6.” 

“I know who you are Longbottom. You’re an awful singer by the way, and you walk really slow.” 

“You don’t make a lot friends very easily do you?” 

“What makes you say that?” Neville chuckled in response and chose not to answer. No sense in insulting his only companion, even if that was his companion’s way of making conversation. 

…

She knew she had to get up, but Hermione couldn’t will herself to; it had been too long since she felt safe and comfortable. She had to remind herself she was still in constant danger, but it was hard to remember in the groundskeeper’s hut. 

The hippogriff had done as asked and flown Hermione and Ginny out of the forest. It would’ve flown them all the way to the front doors if they wanted, but they had to stick to the plan they decided on the train. If they had been separated, their allies would be looking for them at Hagrid’s hut. 

Hermione had suggested they stay the day at Hagrid’s, that Draco would look for her there and that Ron and Harry would think to go there also, but Ginny disagreed. She claimed they needed to go straight to the castle, to not waste any time, but Hermione couldn’t help feeling that Ginny had her own agenda. They argued for almost an hour, Ginny refusing to say why they shouldn’t stay, and Hermione not wanting to blindly trust that her ally was telling her everything she needed to hear. In the end, Ginny left, and Hermione stayed. 

Now, Hermione lay awake on Hagrid’s bed staring at the ceiling. It was the fourth day of the Tournament, she was still alive, had food—real food—a bed to sleep in, and the castle was a just a short walk across the grounds. However, she was completely alone, save for the Hippogriff who was resting comfortably in the corner of the hut, and who knew where Draco was? She knew she couldn’t stay at Hagrid’s hut forever, probably not even another day. Eventually, the others would make it out of the forest and Theo was just as likely as Harry to come to the groundskeeper’s hut. 

“I just want to know where my friends are,” Hermione mused aloud to herself. Her question was answered with a loud crack and Hermione jumped out of the bed. The hippogriff stood as well, his wings knocking over pans hanging from the ceiling. They looked around for the source of the noise and Hermione almost let out a scream when she noticed the tiny figure by the door. Willing herself to breath, she tried not to berate the house-elf for startling her.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as soon as she could catch her breath. 

“Miss Granger is in need of something and my master has sent Winky to help,” the house-elf answered in a high voice. 

“Oh!” Hermione had forgotten Ludo’s letter to the tributes informing them of their sponsorship. “I have sponsors?” 

“Yes miss, my master is very much happy to see you win.”

“Who do you work for?” Hermione was surprised to hear that someone other than Draco wanted her to win. 

“Winky is not allowed to say, my master says it is a secret.”

“But why would it need to be a secret?” 

“Winky did not ask, I do what my master tells me to.” 

Accepting the house-elf would be no help, Hermione returned to the matter at hand. “So, what have you come to help me with? I don’t really need anything right now.” 

“Miss Granger says she wants to know where her friends are, and Winky knows.”

“That’s what you’re here to help me with? What about when I needed food in the forest? Or when I was hurt and needed medical care? Where was my help then?”

“My master says Miss Granger can take care of herself, but if she worries about friends, she will not win. My master wants Miss Granger to win.”

“Yeah you said that.” Hermione knew not to yell at the house-elf, she was just doing her job. “Then where are my friends?”

“Miss Weasley is at the broom shed on the quidditch pitch, Mister Potter and Mister Weasley are in the forest, but they will be out soon.”

“What about Draco?”

“Mister Malfoy is also in the forest, but my master says Mister Malfoy will not make it out.”

“Why not?” 

“Mister Malfoy is hurt miss, and there is no one there to help him.”

“He’s hurt? How? You can help him,” Hermione gave up trying to be gentle to the house-elf. “You can apparate to him, save him, or bring him here and I’ll help him.” 

“Master says I can only help Miss Granger. Mister Malfoy has his own elf to help him.”

“Is his elf helping him?” Winky flinched at Hermione’s tone.

“No, Dobby’s master won’t let him help Mister Malfoy.”

“Then we have to help him! Take me to him.”

“I can’t miss, my master doesn’t want me to.”

“Then why are you here? Why tell me that my friend is in danger if you won’t let me save him.”

“My master says that once Mister Malfoy is dead, Miss Granger will be able to win.”

“But I don’t want to win! I don’t want to live if it means everyone else must die. I want to save Draco, and then the two of us can figure it out together. We’ll think of something, he’ll know what to do. There must be some way to…to… I have to help him,” she pleaded with the house-elf. “Tell your master that if I can’t help Draco then I won’t try to win. I’ll stay right here until Theo or someone else shows up to kill me.” 

“But miss, my master said—” 

“I don’t care what your master said! Either you bring him to me, or I go back in that forest and find him myself.” The house-elf trembled and, with a crack, vanished. 

Hermione stood there for a moment and then began pacing the small hut. The hippogriff had settled back in his corner during the conversation and now he watched her curiously. She was imagining horrible things that could have happened to him: the troll beating him with his massive club, wolves mauling him, Theo stabbing him with his giant knife. Even if her sponsor let Winky help him, would Hermione be able to heal him? She still had the textbook on minor wounds and common ailments, but would that be enough? Winky said he wouldn’t make it out of the forest. Because he was too injured to move? Or because he would bleed to death before he could walk that far? 

She stood there in the hut, thinking over every possible worst-case scenario and Winky still hadn’t returned. True to her word, she would stay at Hagrid’s hut if he died, but she wouldn’t know if he was dead until nightfall. Deciding to prepare for the off-chance that Winky would help him, Hermione boiled water over the fire for tea and rummaged through the cupboards for food. There was stale bread, burnt cookies, and a lot of brandy; she suspected Hagrid had supper up at the castle most nights. Accepting the apples in her bag were better than her other options, Hermione retrieved those from her bag and cleared off the table. 

She pulled out a chair and flipped through the book familiarizing herself with the contents. The most severe injury it covered was broken fingers and toes. There were spells for stanching bleeding, but nothing for closing large gashes. She hadn’t even been able to mend Ginny’s face other than cleaning it and lowering the swelling, so what good would she be against whatever Draco’s injury was? 

Hermione waited for longer than she bothered to know, although she now had a clock to tell her, but the shadows from the window implied it was getting late. She was debating between staying and waiting until Ludo announced the fallen, and just going into the forest herself to find him, when a familiar pop made her jump out of her chair and spin around to the door. 

“Where did you bring me elf? What is this?” Disoriented from apparating, he didn’t see her at first. He stood tall, though he appeared to be placing most of his weight on one foot. His shirt, which had been white and wrinkle-free the last time she saw him, was blood soaked and torn along his side. His hair was ruffled as though he had taken to running his hands through it frequently, and there was dirt on his face, but not so much that she couldn’t see his sneer as he took in his surroundings. 

“Draco?” She half-whispered, unable to believe he was standing in front of her. His eyes were sweeping around the room, taking in the oversized bed, the pans hanging from the ceiling, the floor that looked like it had never been swept, but at the sound of her voice they locked on her. The sneer turned to confusion and then to joy as he realized it was her. 

“Hermione? You’re alive,” it was almost a question, but also a statement he needed to say aloud.

“I’m alive,” she reiterated, needing to confirm it for herself. “And so are you,” her eyes filled with tears, the realization that she wasn’t lying when she said she wouldn’t bother trying if he died hitting her like a train. He crossed the small space between them in a few strides, and Hermione noticed he was limping heavily, but he didn’t let her make a comment. She had just enough time to take a breath before his lips crashed into hers. He cradled her head in his hands and she gripped his shirt, holding in for dear life, knowing that she would fall without his support. 

Neither knew how long they stood there, locked in each other’s embrace, and neither cared. Only when her hand slid down his chest did she feel the blood and remember his injuries. She pulled back with a gasp and he growled in frustration. 

“Draco, you’re hurt.”

“Tis a scratch,” he responded trying to reattach their mouths.

“No, it’s more than that, you were going to die if Winky didn’t save you.” Remembering the house-elf, Hermione grew self-conscious realizing she was still there and had been audience to their reunion. 

“Not hardly,” he scoffed. “I tripped and fell down a hill, spraining my ankle in the process. I was sitting there recuperating when the elf showed up and apparated me here with no warning.” 

Hermione turned to Winky, confused she asked, “I thought your master said Draco wasn’t going to make it out of the forest?” 

“My master did not lie miss. There was a pack of wolves near where Mister Malfoy was resting. He would not have been able to defend himself against all of them, and he cannot run on that ankle.” 

“You would’ve died,” Hermione half-whispered, the realization setting in. She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. He cupped her face with one hand, his thumb brushing across her cheek. 

“But I didn’t. I assume I have you to thank.”

Hermione nodded, the tears flowing freely now. “Or rather whoever my sponsor is. He sent Winky to help me and I begged her to save you.”

“And she was just allowed to?” Draco asked. 

“My master is not happy with Miss Granger,” Winky supplied, “and he told me to tell you not to expect such kindness from him again.” Not needing a reply, Winky popped out of existence leaving the two tributes with her grave promise. 

“Now that we’re finally alone,” Draco pulled her against himself again. His lips had yet to reach her though when there was a clatter in the corner. “For the love of Salazar! What now?” He turned to see the hippogriff standing and rustling its wings. 

“It must want outside,” Hermione suggested. 

“What’s it doing inside in the first place?” 

“He flew me and Ginny out of the forest. When we got here, he just followed us inside like he lives here.”

“Probably does,” Draco mused. “Hagrid’s always keeping dangerous beasts as pets. I reckon this is the same one he showed us a few years back.” He stepped back to give the bird room as Hermione opened the door. Once it was outside, she placed a few charms on the door to prevent any intrusions. 

“Now we’re alone,” Hermione corrected as she turned back to him. “You look awful,” she admitted with a chuckle. 

“Well three days in the forest will do that to a person,” he responded self-consciously. “Not all of us have had the luxury of sleeping in a giant’s bed,” he teased. 

“I only just got here yesterday.”

“You said the hippogriff flew you and Ginny out of the forest; where is she?”

“She wanted to get to the castle.” 

“What about her brother? Didn’t she want to wait for him?”

“Apparently not,” Hermione sniffed. “I know she wanted an alliance without him, but she didn’t even want to wait here for the night. Winky said she was at the broom shed on the quidditch pitch, so I wonder if she found Neville or Luna?” 

Draco shrugged. “There’s only so much time for allies in this game. Maybe she decided to go it alone?” Hermione didn’t like the idea of that, but she didn’t really know that much about the younger witch. For all she knew, Ginny could be the solitary type. “Did the house-elf happen to tell you where Potter and Weasley were?”

“She said they were still in the forest but that they’d be out soon. Everyone else will be pretty soon, I guess.”

“We should be ready to head to the castle then, as soon as they get here,” Draco suggested. 

“Which means tending to your injuries,” Hermione pointed out. Ignoring his grumbling, she pushed him towards the bed, swatting away his hand when he tried to pull her down with him. She was going to argue that there would be time for that later, but she honestly didn’t know if that was true. Flipping the book to the chapter on sprains and fractures, she found a spell specific for ankles and wrists. She repeated the incantation a few times, getting a feel of the words. The spell was simple enough and Draco assured her that he trusted her. With only an oath muttered under his breath, his ankle was reset. 

After that, she checked the ‘scratch’ on his abdomen. It wasn’t any worse than Ginny’s, but she was worried about an infection. Hermione ignored his lewd comments as he removed his shirt and she inspected the wound, subtly admiring his body at the same time. Pushing him until he was laying down, she performed the cleaning spell and covered the wound with a strip of clean cloth she had found among Hagrid’s belongings. Using spello-tape, she secured the cloth and admired her work. Her admiration quickly moved from the injury to the body it belonged to. Without conscious decision, the hand resting on his rest slid down his stomach to where she discovered a small patch of pale hair trailing from his navel and disappearing under his waistband. Her fingers brushed across the hair and a sharp intake of breath broke her trance. Her eyes snapped to his face, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. 

He was laying back, one arm behind his head. He was watching her from half-closed eyes, his own cheeks were dusted pink, but Hermione suspected that was from arousal. His tongue swept across his lips quickly, desperately, and she watched mesmerized. She leaned forward and chastely touched her mouth to his. He seemed to be holding back, not wanting to pressure her, and she could feel the restraint as he kissed her back. The hand on his stomach slid lower, her fingers curling under his waistband. He gasped against her mouth and Hermione took that as encouragement to grow bolder. She swiped her tongue under his upper lip and he made the most delicious sound Hermione had ever heard.

The hand behind his head entangled itself in her hair, holding her against his mouth, his other arm snaking around her waist. With a quick jerk, she was suddenly on the bed, his body looming over hers. Her hand still gripped his waistband and she used that to pull him closer to her. Their legs jumbled together, desperate to be as close as possible, seeking the friction that would satisfy their primal instinct. Hermione vaguely heard their shoes falling to the floor as they kicked them off their feet, but the thuds were nothing compared to the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. It sounded as though it was beating impossibly fast, but logic informed her that half the sounds she was hearing was Draco’s heart which she could feel against her chest. 

He raised himself off her just enough to reach the buttons on her shirt. She wondered if maybe they were going a bit fast, that maybe they should slow down, but then he attacked her neck with various licks and not-so-gentle bites and she forgot how to think. The cool breeze hitting her stomach signaling he managed to undo the last of the buttons restarted her cognitive functions and she took advantage of the temporary sanity. 

“Draco?” The name turned into a half gasp as his lips began a trail across the top of her breast. 

“Mm?” He hummed questioningly against her chest. 

“Do you think we could slow down a bit? Not that I’m not totally loving what you’re doing. It just feels a bit rushed and I don’t think we’re thinking clearly, at least I’m not. I suppose I can’t speak for you—” She was rambling, but she couldn’t stop. Once the words started, they were no way to stop them. She could feel her insecurities growing. He was going to be disappointed, maybe a little angry, she knew it. They finally found each other, had only so much time until the others found them, and here she was acting like a shy teenager.

He didn’t show any inclination that he was even listening to what she was saying, instead kissing his way back across her chest and up her neck. When his lips reached her face again, he pecked her gently on the corner of her mouth then leaned back onto his side, looking down at her. She was surprised to see affection on his face. The hungry arousal was there as well, but he seemed to be tampering it down. 

“You want to slow down?” He clarified, and she nodded. “Then we’ll slow down,” he said simply. 

“That’s ok with you?” 

“Of course. We’ll go as slow as you want. You let me know if you’re uncomfortable with anything.” He rested his hand on her stomach, drawing idle circles with his fingertips. “Are you comfortable with this?” She nodded but the mischievous glint in his eye made her wary. He bent his head to hers and kissed her slowly on the mouth, too slowly. She groaned and tried to pull him closer, but he wouldn’t budge. The motions his fingers were subtly altering from soothing to arousing, and she fought against squirming. 

Draco moved his attention back to her breasts, kissing along the top of her bra but not making a move to remove the obstacle. “Are you comfortable with this?” he murmured against her skin, his warm breath making her breath hitch. 

“Yes,” she choked out earning a chuckle. His circling fingers migrated to her shoulder pushing down her bra strap to reveal more area for his mouth to cover. His hand followed her bra around her body until it was under her back. 

“May I?” His hand had found the clasp holding her bra on. Draco looked at her questioningly, his face calm and nonchalant, but she detected pleading in his eyes. Preparing to be the most exposed she’d ever been to someone outside her family, Hermione nodded, preemptively blushing. With the skill only practice can achieve, he removed her bra one-handedly, pulling it down her arms and baring her breasts. Before she could cover herself, he fastened his mouth on one of her nipples, pinching and pulling the other with his hand. 

Hermione mewled from the sensation, slipping her fingers through his hair to pull him closer, never wanting the feeling to end. Her legs rubbed together, eager to get relief, and, as though reading her thoughts, he repositioned himself above her, slipping one leg between hers, granting her his thigh to move against. She could feel the evidence of his own arousal against her leg and her stomach tightened in response. 

Returning to his torturously slow pace, Draco continued a trail of kisses down her stomach stopping at the top of jeans. He looked up at her, his mouth still against her skin. “I want to make you feel so good Hermione, if you’ll let me.” He looked at her questioningly, waiting until she gave her explicit consent before taking it any further. 

She wanted to give it, too, but the longer he stopped touching her, the clearer her head was. This was neither the time nor the place for a triste, but it was also the only time and place. As far as they knew, Theo could come barging into the hut any moment and kill them both. The thought both encouraged and discouraged her. Better to die being intimate with the man she cared about, right? But what if it’s Harry and Ron that discovers them? In addition to being mortified, there was also the risk that they would leave without her, deciding that her alliance with Draco put them at risk. 

Hermione met Draco’s eyes and was relieved to see that he was still waiting patiently; he wasn’t going to pressure her or be upset if she decided not to continue. The admiration-no, the love-she felt for him was clear in that moment. She made her decision and nodded. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I want to share this experience with you. If I die, I want to know that at least I was loved by someone first.”

“And when you win?” 

“If I win, I’ll have this memory of you to cherish forever.” He smiled at that, kissing her deeply. Feeling bold, she undid his pants, freeing his manhood, earning a gasp from him. Their passion renewed, he pulled off his pants and had hers off moments later. Too engrossed in her arousal, Hermione forgot to be shy when he removed her underwear and placed his mouth on the most intimate part of her body. 

True to his word, Draco made her feel amazing. Hermione was barely coherent to the sounds she was making as he grew familiar with her body. Her breathing grew ragged as though she was running towards something; she was getting closer and closer, two of his fingers entered her and the sensation pushed her over the edge. With a scream she came, her legs trembling, back arching off the bed. Hermione was only aware of her body and the release she felt. 

She didn’t even hear the door open. 

…

“Are you sure this is where you heard the noise come from?” 

“I’m positive Ron, it came from over here.”

“Then whoever, or whatever, you heard must be gone,” he suggested.

“It was a girl, I’m sure of it,” Harry argued. “She was talking to someone and then it sounded like wings flapping.” 

“But did it sound like Ginny? Or Hermione?”

“No, I don’t think it was either of them, but I did recognize the voice. Definitely a tribute we’ve talked to.” Harry racked his brain trying to recall the voice and match it to a face. He thought it was too light and airy to be Pansy or Astoria, and they were the only ones he considered to be a threat. Anyone else, he was confident he could convince into a temporary treaty. He doubted Ron would be willing to trade supplies for information, but Harry didn’t see any other options. They hadn’t seen Draco since he left them the day before, and they hadn’t seen the girls since the day before that. Someone else could have seen them though. 

“Are we still heading East?” Ron asked. Harry checked his wand and was disappointed to see they had been heading more North than East. They would have to correct their direction-again-but that would draw them away from the source of the noise he had heard. Before he could answer Ron, a shout alerted them both to the presence of someone a dozen yards in front of them. Grasping their wands, they snuck through the trees towards the noise. Rounding a tree, they hunkered near the ground hoping to see before they were seen. 

There was a small clearing before them; the trees were different than those of the deeper parts of the forest. Harry suspected these ones bore fruit, but it was too early in the season to tell which. The sunlight also managed to flicker through the leaves of these trees, not much, but enough that Harry could tell it was late afternoon, the air was warmer, and Harry was relieved when he realized this meant they were near the edge of the forest. The grounds and the school would probably be a few minutes’ walk past the clearing, and then they would be free of the claustrophobic surroundings. 

All they had to do was pass the terrifying skeletal horses. 

“Ron?” He whispered to his friend behind him. “What are those?” There was at least a dozen of them, ranging in size. Shaped like horses, but they had more bone than flesh, and enormous wings jutted from their back. 

“Thestrals, Harry,” Ron whispered back. “They pull the carriages that take us the school at start of term. Nasty creatures if you’re not careful. Hagrid’s the only one that interacts with them. You can only see them if you’ve seen someone die, so most people can’t see them until third or fourth year. It’s pretty surreal coming to school one year and suddenly the carriages don’t pull themselves.” 

That made sense, Harry thought to himself. Districts that held public executions for muggles usually restricted the audience to those 13 or older, at least in the pureblood districts. He knew the other districts, the ones that had far less executions, made the event mandatory. The first one Harry could remember was when he was 6; since then, he had seen 9. Purebloods were in the habit of executing muggles semi-regularly, and he suspected Ron had seen that many deaths within a single year in District 2. 

“So, should we go around? Or do you think we can just pass by them?”

“Better not risk it,” Ron answered. “Who knows what would happen if we go too close, they might go into a frenzy and attack us. It’s best to just avoid them if at all… what is she doing?” Harry followed Ron’s gaze and realized with a start that a small figure was crossing the clearing towards one of the smaller thestrals. In the light of the clearing, Harry immediately recognized Luna, despite her disheveled appearance. Her clothes were in worse shape than Harry’s, her long straggly hair was ratted and knotted, and she was barefoot, her feet caked with dirt. But the way she moved, as though walking on air, was not something someone else could mimic and he realized it was her voice he had heard. Luna moved without hesitation towards the small thestrals, stopped a few feet away, and held out something for the young creature. From their distance, Harry couldn’t tell what it was, but based on the thestrals eagerness to consume it, he figured it was some form of dead animal. 

“Do you think she’s alone?” he asked Ron. If she was, he would feel obligated to invite her along with them out of the forest, but if she had found her other allies, Harry would be content leaving her to her own devices. 

“I don’t know. I don’t see anyone, and I can’t see anyone willingly spending time with her, except Neville, but she seems too comfortable to be alone and it must have been her you heard talking. Should we go talk to her? Maybe she’s seen Ginny,” he suggested hopefully. 

“If you have a question,” her light voice seemed unusually loud in the otherwise silence, “you can just come ask me; there’s no need to speculate.” Harry and Ron looked at each other in shocked embarrassment. With a shrug, harry stood from his crouch and entered the clearing, Ron following close behind. 

“Hey Luna, how have you been?”

“I can’t complain Harry. It’s nice to see neither of you have been killed yet.”

“Thanks Luna,” Ron responded unsure of how to respond to her blunt honesty. “Same for you.”

“I didn’t think I’d survive this long, but I guess luck has been on my side. Besides you, I’ve only encountered two others.”

“Ginny and Hermione?” Harry asked hopefully. 

“I’m sorry Harry, I haven’t seen them, but I’m sure they’ve made it out of the forest by now.” She spoke matter-of-factly, and Harry couldn’t help agreeing with her. 

“If you haven’t seen them,” Ron asked, “Then who have you seen?”

“Neville and the girl from 2, Pansy. I just saw them a few minutes before you two arrived.”

“They were together?” Harry clarified, and Luna nodded. “Where did they go? Why didn’t Neville stay with you?” 

“He wanted to, but I said I was waiting for you two. I knew you weren’t far behind. Pansy didn’t want to be here when you got here though, so Neville walked her the rest of the way to the grounds. He’ll be waiting for us there.”

“And we’re supposed to trust that Pansy isn’t going to kill him as soon as he turns his back?” Ron asked incredulously. 

“They were traveling together all day,” Luna supplied. “If she was going to kill him, she would’ve already. Like the rest of us, she is not comfortable with murdering another person.” Harry couldn’t argue with that logic, but still he felt uneasy with the idea of Neville being along with one of Theo’s allies. 

“We should get out of the forest and hope that Hermione and Ginny are at Hagrid’s hut.”

“What if they aren’t?” Ron asked.

“We’ll wait the evening, and if they don’t show up, we’ll head to the school. Thy may have gone on without us if they thought we were ahead of them.” It wasn’t the best plan, but it was the best Harry could come up with in the circumstances. Ron agreed reluctantly, and with Luna leading them, they headed out of the forest. Every step brought them closer to fresh air and sunlight; their pace grew faster, urgent, as they approached freedom from the desolate forest. Harry broke into a run for the last few yards and with a gasp, he emerged from the dark. The sky was cloudy, but it was there, no doubt about it. Harry estimated it was about 5 or 6 in the evening, the sun would still be up for a few more hours. His eyes adjusted to the light and he took in his surroundings. The grounds were vast and covered in hillsides. Towards the north, he could see mountains, according to Hermione and Draco, that was the way towards the Hogsmeade village. And in the opposite direction would be the lake, across which would be the remainder of the supplies, if the purebloods left anything behind. And directly in front of him, about a mile across the grounds, was Hogwarts. 

For a moment, nobody moved, nobody spoke. For Ron, it was a homecoming, for Harry it was a testimony of his capabilities as a wizard. After several long moments, Harry remembered what their objectives. 

“Where’s Neville?” He looked around and was growing concerned when he didn’t see him or Pansy. “They would’ve come out right here, where did they go?” he could see what he assumed was Hagrid’s hut a short distance away, but it didn’t seem likely that Neville would go any further without Luna. 

“If Pansy hurt him I’m going to…I’ll…she won’t…” Harry turned to Ron and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“If she hurt him, he’d still be right here,” he pointed out. “He probably just got excited at having made it this far and headed to the castle. Maybe him and Pansy are continuing their alliance, and she’s still with him. He’ll be fine.” He didn’t know if he sounded convincing, but he refused to accept the alternative. Either way, they wouldn’t know for sure until night fell; until then, Harry didn’t want to dwell on it. 

“Come on, let’s get to Hagrid’s and see if Hermione and Ginny have been there.”

As they approached the hut, Harry took out his wand, motioning for Ron and Luna to do the same. Theo or anyone else was just as likely to seek refuge in the hut as they were. The curtains were drawn and there was no sign of life, but Harry was still cautious. He stepped up the few steps to the door and tried the handle. Unsurprisingly it was locked. 

“Try that unlocking spell,” Ron suggested quietly. “I think I can hear someone inside.” Harry could hear it too, it was muffled possibly by charms, but there was definitely someone inside. He tried the spell Hermione insisted they learn but to no avail. The door was charmed shut and it would take stronger magic to get it open. Suddenly a scream erupted from the small house, and Harry acted on impulse. Skipping down the steps, he held up his wand and shouted the first spell that came to mind. 

“Bombarda!” he directed his spell at the handle and with a bang, the door burst open. Ignoring the smoke, Harry hurried into the hut, holding his wand up ready to cast a defensive charm. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the room, the curtains blocked out any natural light, but after a moment his eyes focused on the large bed. Another moment and he could see the figures on the bed. 

“Er—” It was clear Hermione was too confused by his sudden arrival to react to his presence yet, based on the fact she had made no move to cover herself. Malfoy on the other hand jumped to shield her body with his own. 

“Potter, I will give you 2 seconds to close your mouth and get outside, before I curse you. My wand is more than ready to cast some dark magic.” Harry tore his eyes from Hermione’s naked breast still partly visible. He looked away and as if the moment couldn’t get any more uncomfortable, his sweeping gaze informed him that Malfoy’s wand was not the only thing that was at the ready. Choking out an incoherent apology and promptly fled the hut. 

Ron was in hysterics on the ground; clearly, he had realized the situation before Harry and had time to save himself from the embarrassment Harry was feeling. Luna was standing off to the side watching the ordeal, a look of amusement on her face. 

“I suspected they would not hesitate to engage in intercourse to demonstrate their affection for each other. Did Hermione look like she was enjoying it? I’ve been told Draco has a reputation for being skilled in such acts.” Harry had no idea how to answer that, Ron however responded by beginning another fit. 

The door was too damaged for anyone to even bother trying to shut the door, therefore, Harry could hear everything that was said as his friend and her lover dressed. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Malfoy had snarled, for the third time. 

“No, you’re not,” Hermione had responded again. This time, instead of arguing that he would, Malfoy asked what was stopping him. “You’re not going to kill him, because that is what I will be doing as soon as I find my shirt.” Harry refused to look at Ron who, although standing, was still at risk of breaking into hysterics. 

“What if we kill him together?” Malfoy suggested. “We’ll fire the curse at the same time, on the count of three.” 

“If you think I’m letting him die a quick painless death, you are sorely mistaken. I’m going to take my time, use my hands, do it the muggle way.” Harry gulped and wondered if maybe he’d be better off heading to the castle on his own. If he did what his dad instructed him to do, then he could keep Hermione alive long enough to forgive him. Before he could give it too much thought, he the two leave the hut behind him. Bracing himself, he turned and faced Hermione. 

She looked different, not just because the image of her lying on the bed completely naked was forever engrained in his brain, but there was something different in how she held herself. She stood straighter, surer of herself. Her hair had completely unraveled, and it added several inches to her height. Her face was flushed, giving her a healthy glow. She was beautiful, and Harry understood this was how Malfoy saw her. 

He waited for the reprimand he was sure she was going to give him. She stood staring at him, seething, and finally she hurried towards him. Worried she was really going to try to kill him, he was surprised when she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his neck. 

“I was so worried. Every night I waited, praying that I wouldn’t hear your name.” He hugged her back, letting his relief in seeing her alive ease his embarrassment. He felt a hand on his back and he pulled back to see Ron there, sobered by the emotion between them. Hermione detached herself from him to repeat the gesture with Ron.

Harry turned to see Malfoy watching them, his face unreadable. Harry nodded towards him, a reminder of their comradery. After a moments’ deliberation, Malfoy returned the nod. 

It wasn’t going to be easy, Harry knew, but the four of them could do it.


	16. Day 4 pt 2

There it was. Hogwarts. She was so close, a few more minutes and they will have arrived at their intended destination. Ludo’s letter to her had promised a feast and some sort of ceremony. She doubted it would be like the Start of Term feast, but hopefully there would be food. They had no idea how many other tributes had already arrived, although she guessed more than a few; their hardships in the forest had slowed them down more than her lover would’ve liked.

She stole a glance at him, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Their relationship had grown tense from their time in the arena; he was irritable to their allies, almost cruel, and though his demeanor towards her had yet to change, she feared it was only a matter of time. Even now he held her hand, not in companionship, but rather to assert his control of her. He wasn’t leading her; she was practically being dragged as she struggled to keep up with his long strides. Knowing better than to complain, she kept her mouth shut and did her best to match his pace. 

Their allies seemed to be of the same mind, neither looked happy with who was making the decisions, but they hurried along anyway. The memory of what happened when they questioned him was still fresh in their mind. Astoria shuddered as she recalled Amelia’s face as Theo strangled the life out of her. All she had said was maybe they shouldn’t’ve wasted so much time tracking the Weasley girl, but Theo had snapped; Astoria had never seen him so irrationally angry, so frighteningly violent. The worst part hadn’t been that he killed his ally, or even that he’d chosen to do it the muggle way, with his hands; the worst part had been that nobody had done anything to stop him, they were forced to watch, frozen by their shock and fear. They watched as Theo, their friend, ally, and leader had killed a fourteen-year-old girl because she’d had the guts to say what they were all thinking. 

Once they had finished mourning the loss of their friend, the three of them had silently agreed they would keep Theo happy until they reached the castle; after the feast, they would go their separate ways. Astoria had decided she would distract Theo to give her friends the chance to escape and then once he realized they were gone, she’d slip away. She knew she wouldn’t survive without him, but she also wasn’t sure she’d survive with him.

The doors to the castle, normally open and welcoming, now loomed forlorn before them. Once a safe haven, now the setting of their deaths, the tributes entered the school, wands raised and guards up. 

The Entrance Hall was empty, save for the sense of dread that occupied the space around them, and the stairs, normally full of life, were naked. Even with the lamps lit and the outside light following them through the doors, the hall seemed dark, and they each lit their wands automatically. 

“Where do you think everyone is?” Even at a whisper, Astoria felt her voice was too loud. 

“I dunno.” Not bothering to whisper, Theo’s voice was comparable to a shout in the silence making Astoria jump and almost drop her wand. “Maybe we’re the first?” Astoria didn’t want to point out how unlikely that was. “I guess we just head in,” Theo offered, nodding towards the Great Hall. Nobody moved an inch, everyone clearly expecting Theo to go first but he had no intention of risking his life for any of them. 

They stood at a standstill for a few moments, the seconds ticking away into minutes. Eventually, Astoria grew bored with the theatrics. 

“Fine!” She threw up her hands and stalked over to the doors. Tightening her grip on her wand, she pulled the door open. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the light, for while the entrance seemed impossibly dark, the Great Hall was its usual bright, welcoming space. The candles were lit, the sky matched the clear blue outside, and for the first time since the portkey deposited her in the forest, Astoria felt safe. 

The tables were arranged as usual, set for a feast, but the dishes were bare. The only living thing in the room, sat on a stool at the head of the hall. Giving into the sense of déjà vu, Astoria forgot her friends and crossed the hall-as she had on the first day of term 6 years prior-coming to a stop before the hat that was poised to make a decision that would affect her future, just as it had all those years ago. 

“What’s this all about?” Theo’s voice shook her from her memories before she could enjoy them, and she fought the unexpected fury aimed at him for reminding her where she was. 

“It’s the sorting hat,” Astoria answered.

“I know what it is, I’m asking what’s it about?”

“Well maybe if you quit asking questions, it can answer them.” Refusing to acknowledge her boyfriend further, Astoria turned to the hat and awaited his speech. After a moment’s hesitation, the hat began to move, a tear along to brim opening to reveal a mouth. 

“Welcome students to Hogwarts. I am the sorting hat, as you may know, and it is my job to sort the students into their respected houses.”

“Yes, we know all this,” Theo interrupted angrily. “We’ve all been sorted already. We know the story of the four founders, how they argued about who to accept, and then finally they agreed with Slytherin to only accept purebloods. Then they made you to sort the purebloods into which house they should be. We’ve heard you sing about it every year.”

“But do you know why we sort you?”

Theo opened his mouth, then shut it. “No, because it’s not important.” 

“We sort you so that each of you will be surrounded by others that will challenge and help you. Those that favor intelligence are grouped together so that they may learn from each other. If you value courage, you are housed with others that are brave so that when you are tempted to give into fear, your friends are there to encourage you to remain strong. Hard workers can motivate each other when one feels worthless. And those that pride themselves on their cunning nature have manipulative friends to challenge them. That is why we sort you.”

“So, you’re here to sort the tributes that haven’t been sorted yet?” Astoria asked. 

“That is correct, and I am also here to guide each of you towards victory. You have already been sorted, and it is in your houses that you will find what you need to win the tournament. Once you have found that which will assist you, return here and enjoy a feast.”

“That’s it?” Theo demanded. “We just have to go to our dorms and they’ll be some magical thing to help us out then we come back up here for some food?” 

“Tasks which appear difficult are often quite simple; tasks perceived as easy, can prove to be more troublesome than anticipated,” the hat merely answered without further explanation. 

Having a thought, Astoria inquired, “Can you tell us how many other tributes have passed through here?”

“I can. There has been one tribute before you.”

“That’s it? What about everyone else?”

“You four are the only other tributes to have arrived at the castle thus far, but I suspect more will follow shortly. I wouldn’t dawdle if I were you,” the hat cautioned. Astoria knew the hat was right, to think they had ample time before the remaining tributes caught up to them would be foolish. 

“If there’s only been one tribute before us, then the way to the dorms shouldn’t be any trouble at all; it’s the coming back for the feast that concerns me.”

“The hat says we’ll be getting something to help us win,” Theo reminded her, “so if we hurry, we can get here in time to catch Potter’s little group with an advantage.” Astoria doubted Theo’s confidence but wasn’t going to waste time arguing. She turned to their friends who hadn’t contributed to the discussion. She was sure their thoughts followed the same trail hers had: they were in different houses than Theo and her, giving them the perfect opportunity to put distance between them. 

“We better get a move on then,” Astoria suggested. “Colin you’re in Ravenclaw and Kat you’re Hufflepuff. Get to your dorms and get back here as fast as you can. We’ll head down to the dungeons and meet you back here.” They hurried off, not bothering to say their goodbyes, but Astoria knew they had no intention of seeing them again. 

Given an objective, Theo seemed to regain his cool. Or maybe it was knowing that he was ahead of their competitors. Whatever the reason, Astoria was just glad he was no longer strangling people. All she had to do was get to the Slytherin common room with him, then she could get away from him; even if it meant hiding in her dorm room until everyone else killed each other, she would make it out of this tournament alive.

…

There it was. Hogwarts. He was so close, a few more minutes and they will have arrived at their intended destination. Ron was immeasurably happy to be back, but the cost had been high. After rejoining Hermione and Malfoy, the five of them spent almost a quarter of an hour arguing about what to do next, well four of them; Luna mostly just stood there watching them. 

Ron wanted nothing but to find Ginny, so he argued they should go to the broom shed. Hermione had told him she seemed to have a secret motive that nobody knew about, and they shouldn’t waste time tracking her down if she was just going to ditch them again. But, Ron pointed out, everyone in the tournament had a secret they were keeping. Everyone’s goal was to get out alive and sooner or later that meant being the only on left standing. Who cared if Ginny was doing her own thing, just as long as she was doing it where he could see that she was still alive. 

Harry agreed with him, but he wanted them to get to the castle first. They would have time to find her after they discovered what the welcoming ceremony and feast would be. Ron didn’t want to admit that it hurt seeing Harry care more about the tournament than his sister. Of course, Ginny wasn’t Harry’s sister, in fact he kind of suspected Harry had a little crush on her, but he considered Harry his best friend even after so short a time together. Harry had been the one tribute to care more about keeping his honor and dignity than about winning. Ron whole-heartedly believed Harry was willing to die it meant protecting a complete stranger. 

Malfoy, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with Ginny, or ‘Little Red’, as he annoyingly called her. She would be fine, he kept saying with a sneer, and Ron had to refrain from hexing him. He clearly only cared about himself and Hermione, but Ron doubted that would last much longer; once he shagged her, Ron was sure Malfoy would leave her to die, if not kill her himself. He had never liked Malfoy when they were classmates, he’d watch the blond string along girls, use them, then dump them publicly, humiliating them. Harry seemed to think this was different, but Ron knew better than to trust the ferret. 

What hurt the most though, was Hermione agreeing with Malfoy. For someone who claimed to be super intelligent, she was making a stupid mistake. She had been with Ginny in the forest, had cleaned her wounds, huddled together for warmth at night, but at Malfoy insisting Ginny could handle herself, Hermione immediately agreed. She liked Harry’s idea of getting to the castle first then coming back for her. 

In the end, Ron had the choice of going alone, or hoping Harry and Hermione would keep their promise to help him find her later. He had been all set to part from the group, but it was Luna that convinced him to stay. She had lost Neville, they had no idea where to look for him, and in the midst of arguing about Ginny, they had even forgotten he was missing, but she would stay with the group, because it was what Neville would’ve wanted her to do. If Ron went looking for Ginny and got killed, his sister would never forgive him. So, Ron stayed. 

They inventoried whatever supplies they accrued and found at Hagrid’s then set off for the castle. Now, it loomed before them, beckoning them to safety, but Ron knew they were guaranteed danger. Theo would have already arrived, he was sure of it, and he could be waiting for them in the Entrance Hall, the killing curse on the tip of his tongue. 

They reached the castle, and all stopped to admire the sanctuary before them. Ron tore his eyes away to look at Hermione, Luna, and Harry who would be seeing this for the first time. He thought back to his first time seeing the castle and could only imagine how they felt. For him, it had been a long-awaited privilege, a privilege that would later be revoked. For them, though, it was a defiance, proof that the ministry was full of shit. Each of them had proved they deserved to be there, more than 11-year-old purebloods ever had. 

Hermione looked like she was about to start crying, her eyes were shiny. Malfoy reached over and put an arm around her, kissing her temple as he pulled her close. Not for the first time, Ron wondered if maybe Harry was right, that this was different for Malfoy, but Ron knew better than to assume the best in people. 

Finally, Harry broke the silence. “We should head in, go see what the welcoming ceremony is about, and hopefully get some food.” The others agreed and raised their wands preparing for the worst. The doors opened silently, their shadows stretching across the floor as light pooled in behind them. The hall was empty, no signs of people having already passed through. Still, they kept their wands high, eyes peeled, and ears perked. A quick look around revealed that for the time being they were alone. 

“Which way to the Great Hall?” Harry asked quietly. 

Malfoy gestured to the doors off to the side. “If Theo, or anyone else, is waiting for us, they’ll probably be in there. We should be careful.” Harry nodded and the two of them approached the doors slowly. Ron and Hermione followed them, standing off to the side. Counting silently, Harry opened one door, Malfoy peering in from behind the other. They waited, breaths held, until Malfoy relaxed and stepped into the room.

“It’s clear,” he said, and they collectively took a sigh of relief. Ron followed Harry into the hall and smiled in spite of himself. They were home. The Great Hall looked as welcoming as it always had, even though the tables were empty, there was seating for the entire school. 

“Whoa,” Harry breathed, and Ron clapped a hand on his back. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts, mate.”

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione murmured. 

“Just like Filch described it?” Malfoy asked. 

“Better.” They all stood there in a daze until Luna brought them back to the present. 

“What’s that there on the stool?” Ron followed her gaze and realized she was referring to the sorting hat. He hadn’t noticed it when they walked in, too distracted by the nostalgia of the room. 

“The Sorting Hat,” Malfoy answered. “I guess it’s here for the welcome ceremony.” They approached the hat cautiously, unsure what twist Ludo had in store for them. 

“Welcome students, please come forward. For those of you that don’t know, I am the sorting hat. It is my job to sort new students into the houses they will live for the remainder of their years at Hogwarts.”

“So, you’re going to sort us?” Luna asked. 

“Those of you that haven’t been, yes. There are a couple of you that already know your house.”

“Can I go first?” Luna asked hopefully, and the hat nodded.

“Wait a minute,” Malfoy objected. “If we must waste time doing this, then we’re going to do it right.” He walked up to the stool and lifted the hat. “Luna Lovegood,” he announced, and Luna hurried to the stool and sat. Malfoy placed the hat on her head, and Luna jumped slightly. Ron remembered his own shock at hearing the hat’s voice inside his head. After a few moments, the hat reached a decision. 

“Ravenclaw!” It called out to the room, despite the only audience being a few feet away. Malfoy lifted the hat and Luna hopped off the stool with a satisfied smile on her face. 

“My father always said I was smart enough to be a Ravenclaw.” 

“Who wants to go next? Potter?” Harry nodded nervously, and Ron resisted the urge to snort. The first time Harry looked worried since they entered the arena and it’s about getting sorted. “Harry Potter,” Malfoy called. Harry stalked over to the stool and sat as Luna had, albeit a lot less enthusiastically. The hat murmured and mumbled for a few minutes, Harry seemed to be having a disagreement with it. Finally, they seemed to reach an agreement. 

“Very well,” the hat said aloud, “Gryffindor!” Malfoy lifted the hat and Harry stood from the stool, relief more abundant than Luna. He walked over to him, and Ron couldn’t help hugging his friend. 

“It’s good to know we would’ve been in the same house if things were different,” Ron told him, and Harry smiled. 

“And last, but never least, Hermione Granger.” Hermione beamed and walked to the stool. Ron watched the range of emotions pass of Hermione’s face over the next few minutes. They ranged from excitement, to confusion, then worry, there was a flash of anger at one point, then more confusion. Ron shifted from one foot to another, worried that the moment he sat down, the hat would reach a decision and he’d have to get up again. 

“Why is it taking so long?” Harry leaned over and said quietly in his ear. 

“Sometimes it just does, others it’s an easy decision.” He nodded to Malfoy who was standing patiently. “The hat hardly touched his head before it decided on Slytherin.”

“What about you?” 

“It didn’t take too long, I guess. Felt like an eternity at the time, but really it was less than a minute. Shouldn’t be too much longer for her. She’s probably just arguing with it, thinks she knows better.” After several more moments, Hermione seemed to relax, and the hat announced its decision. 

“Gryffindor!” Hermione hopped up from the stool and hurried over to her housemates, throwing her arms around them unexpectedly.

“Oof,” Ron muttered, struggling to regain his balance, reflexively reciprocating the hug. The three of them enjoyed their brief moment of comradery, letting themselves get lost in a fantasy of an alternative life. 

“Do we get to have the feast now?” Luna’s question brought them back to the present, and they all turned to the sorting hat expectantly. 

“Not yet,” it answered, “First you must retrieve something of value from your houses, then you may return here and enjoy the feast.”

“Valuable how?”

“Each of you will find something that will assist you in the Tournament.”

“So, like a weapon?” Ron clarified. 

“What is considered valuable to one person, may have no meaning to another.”

“Right…” Ron gathered the hat had run out of helpful information for them. “How do we want to do this? Separate? Or just go to each dorm on at a time?” 

“It would be faster to split up,” Hermione answered reluctantly, “But considerably more dangerous. Draco obviously knows how to get to the Slytherin common room, and you can take me and Harry to Gryffindor, but what about Luna? How is she supposed to know where the Ravenclaw dorm is?”

“I might have a way to figure that out,” Harry chimed in. Ron suddenly realized Harry had been quiet since Hermione had been sorted. It wasn’t like him to just stand by while everyone else made decisions. 

“How do you mean?” Ron asked. 

“It’ll be easier to show you then explain it all, but it means a little detour before going to the common room.”

“We still have to go get Ginny too,” Ron reminded him. “She’s in Gryffindor also, so she’ll need to come with us to the Gryffindor tower anyway.” 

“Are we forgetting about the essence of time?” Malfoy interjected. “While you’re busy chasing after your sister, the other tributes will have gotten their valuable item and enjoyed the feast, which I’m guessing will probably be a first come sort of thing.”

“We can’t just leave Ginny behind,” Hermione argued. 

“We’re not leaving her, she left you. All I’m suggesting is we remember that alliances only go so far in the tournament.” 

Ron’s patience was at its end. “You go on then, scurry down to the dungeons like the snake you are and abandon your allies. It’s only a matter of time before Theo finds you and we won’t be here to watch your back. C’mon Harry, let’s go.” 

Hermione watched Ron stalk out of the hall without a backwards glance. She took half a step towards him, but Malfoy’s hand on her arm stopped her. She looked to Harry, who seemed just as conflicted as she was. It was too early to divide up their group, but it wasn’t safe for Ron to go off alone. 

“Take Luna with you,” she told him. “Get her to the Ravenclaw room. After you find Ginny, meet us at the Gryffindor Tower.” Harry just nodded then hurried after his friend, Luna following after, seemingly unperturbed by the situation. 

“Are you ok?” Draco’s voice was as comforting as the arm he wrapped around her, pulling her against him. 

“All things considered? No, I don’t think I am. We can try to stick together for as long as we want, but in the end, it won’t matter. Only one person is going to win, is going to survive.”

“And it’s going to be you,” he told her firmly. 

“I won’t just stand by and watch all of you die.” 

“And I’m not going to let you die for anyone. Especially not me.” He grasped her chin gently, lifting her mouth to his. She relaxed against him. In the midst of their reunion with Harry and Ron, and the embarrassment of the circumstances, she hadn’t time to consider what had happened between them. Now, she decided she didn’t want to think too much about it. 

“We should probably get going,” he murmured against her mouth. Before they left the hall, the hat stopped them. 

“The previous tributes thought to ask, so it’s probably best you know too. There have been five tributes to arrive before you.” 

“Five?” 

“It has to be Theo and the other purebloods,” Draco said. “We should really get moving, they could be anywhere.”

“What house is Theo in?”

“Slytherin, so that’s the last place we’re going. Let’s go get your item first.” He grabbed her and hand, and they set out through the castle.


End file.
